


Endurance

by NoSou



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Male-Female Friendship, Non-Canon Relationship, Slow Burn, Slow burn of life, Violence, non-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-02 15:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4064332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoSou/pseuds/NoSou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Valos Kas is hired by the templars to help track down mages, and soon make a name for themselves as seasoned mage-hunters. When the Conclave is announced, Shokrakar assembles a team to investigate. Unfortunately, disaster hits and the Breach is opened, pulling Herah into the Fade. She re-emerges, unnoticed, with a glowing mark on her hand that somehow grants her mage powers. With anti-mage sentiment growing in the wake of the Rebellion, Herah is forced to go into hiding. Meanwhile, the Inquisition has begun the hunt for the woman they believe caused the explosion at the Conclave.</p><p>With the growing legend surrounding the so-called 'Herald of Andraste' and her mage powers starting to riot out of control as the Breach expands, how long can Herah stay in hiding? And what happens after?</p><p>An f!Adaar origin story, and the events before the Breach up until she joins the Inquisition & beyond that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dubious Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> A Plot bunny that would not leave me alone.

Herah crouched down behind a bush, a frown of concentration written across her features. Ambushing mages was dangerous business, and Shokrakar had set up more and more of these jobs recently. With the mage rebellion having spread as quickly as it had, it was no wonder that the templars were turning to mercenary groups to help recapture anybody who had escaped. Despite the danger in hunting mages, Shokrakar seemed to prefer working for the templars. Few mercenary groups dared venture into the Hinterlands now, what with the rogue templars and rebel mages warring it out across the countryside. The Chantry affiliated templars were stretched thin as it was, and hunting down mages to re-establish the Circles was proving difficult for their dwindling numbers. As such, they paid well and hired often.

The grass next to her rustled, and Herah turned, coming face-to-face with Maraas. He put his finger to his lips, making a few hand gestures to signal that the caravan was approaching. He turned away, rested on his haunches, one hand on her shoulder to steady her. Herah smiled inwardly. Maraas had decided to join the Valos Kas after all the chaos in Kirkwall began to affect his ability to gain work. She was grateful for his presence. While he had a rather direct, abrasive personality, he had taken on the role of mentor to the young Vashoth, passing on whatever knowledge he felt he could, from fighting techniques to the correct (and elaborate) application of vitaar. Impatient with Herah’s fumbling, he had applied both of theirs today, the elaborate red patterns looking almost more decorative than functional.

The foliage around them rustled once more, and Anaan crept up behind them, throwing his arms conspiratorially around them both. Maraas mouth turned down in disapproval, but Anaan remained unfazed, patting Herah on the shoulder as he spoke. His vitaar was applied in a considerably less intricate fashion. Earlier in the day, he had watched Maraas fussing over Herah, shaken his head, dipped his hand into the mixture and then run it over his face from left to right before proclaiming himself battle ready.  
‘Three says they’re close now. Get ready. Also, Shokrakar says we can spend some of the money on human ale later so-’  
The groan of wheels carrying a heavy burden cut through the air, and Anaan instantly went quiet, repositioning himself in an animalistic crouch, ready to throw himself into battle.

Herah squinted through the leaves. The caravan was approaching rather quickly, pulled forward by a very tired excuse for a horse. Two men walked next to it, one clutching a staff nervously and the other eating an apple in an extremely loud fashion. She could not see inside the caravan, but assumed that there must be more people inside it. The Templars wouldn’t have sent them after two people only, surely. Maraas made a swift, silent motion, and Anaan reached for the spear in the ground beneath them, his muscles rippling as he rolled it in his palm a few times. Another gesture from Maraas, and Anaan shifted his crouch so that he was balanced on the balls of his feet and slowly raised the spear. A few silent moments passed before Maraas nodded imperceptibly, and Anaan jumped to his feet and hurled the spear forward with a grunt, taking down the horse.

The mage readied his staff, as the other man threw down his apple, his hands reaching for his dagger. A fierce, disheveled looking woman stepped out of the caravan, her overly spiky staff buzzing with electricity. Another man stepped out behind her, middle aged and haggard, looking around at the Qunari slowly emerging from all sides warily. As planned, Herah stepped out in front of the caravan as the others surrounded it, weapons drawn.

‘We don’t want to fight you. Submit and we will return with you to the templars. Choose to fight, however, and we will cut you all down.’ Herah said, trying not to sound too much like she was reciting the script Shokrakar had given her earlier.

‘If you bring us back to the templars, you sentence us to death!’ the middle-aged mage pleaded.

‘That is...erm...unfortunate, I suppose, but we have an arrangement, and um...such is life.’ Herah cringed inwardly. Ad-libbing was clearly not one of her strong points.

The woman interrupted her before she could come up with something more useful to say, sending an arch of lightning towards her. Thanks to Maraas’ vitaar, however, the spell had no effect other than lifting her snow-white braids off her scalp for a few seconds in a static mess.

‘Bit rude.’ Herah commented, reaching behind her for her sword as the woman rolled up her sleeve, revealing a scarred arm. Blood magic.

The air around them warped darkly as the woman put her hand on her wrist, sending criss-crossing red shards flying at the young qunari. Herah lept out of the way, barely managing to dodge the onslaught.

‘Blood magic and cutting down it is then.’ Herah remarked, taking on a fighting stance.

 

***

 

The battle was over swiftly. Maraas had dispatched the blood mage easily enough, without any scars to show for it. Anaan was breathing heavily, his torso covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The man who had been eating the apple and his companion had surrendered quickly. The middle aged-man had tried to put up a fight, but had been too weary to offer much resistance. Herah bent down over him to make sure he had not been injured in the skirmish.

‘Don’t - don’t take her. Take me, take us all, just...let her live...’ the man whispered weakly.

‘What are you -’

‘She is...just a child. The things they will do - I implore you, allow her to-’

‘What’s he whispering in your ear then, Herah?’ Anaan said cheekily.

‘Nothing. Checked the caravan yet?’ She asked, turning around.

 

‘Shokrakar is ch-’

A loud boom resonated through the forest around them, and the caravan door flung open, throwing Shokrakar onto her back. A young girl, no more than thirteen, stood at the entrance, gripping a staff that was entirely too heavy for her. When one of the mercenaries reached out for her, the prisoner cried out ‘RUN, ALANIS!’ and the with a whoosh, the girl lost her form, becoming a smoky haze that shot off into the forest, leaving an icy trail behind her.

Shokrakar gestured for her to be followed, and Herah and a few others took off into the forest after her. Whatever spell she had used gave her the advantage of speed, but did nothing for stealth. The path she had taken was clearly marked by the fine sparkle of frost glittering on the foliage surrounding it. Herah followed the path closely, careful not to slip on the now frozen ground. When the obviously frosty trail suddenly ended, everyone stopped, looking around for clues as to where the mageling had fled.

‘Those with spell-resisting vitaar, split up and continue the search. She is young and untrained,’ one of the qunari said authoritatively. ‘the rest of us will be returning.’

The crackle of undergrowth and the snapping of twigs confirmed that everyone had obeyed the order. The qunari with vitaar fanned out in front of her. Herah stayed still, instinct kicking in. She turned around in a circle, taking in her surroundings, before slowly, leisurely walking back in the direction they had come from, retracing the icy markings. A few disturbed plants to her side drew her attention. Herah smirked. The clever girl had retraced her steps, knowing that the obvious pathway would throw them.

Herah narrowed her eyes, concentrating on remaining silent. She was rewarded almost instantly as, with a rustle, the girl, clearly too unsettled to sit still, bounded out from her hiding place. Herah gave chase, catching up to her and grabbing her staff and pulling it from her grip before the girl could wisp away again. The mageling looked up at her, her blue eyes wide with terror.

‘Please.’ she whimpered, her voice cracking.

Herah kept her facial expression blank. She crouched down in order to come face to face with the child. She was always struck by just how...tiny...humans were. She looked more like the street urchins who had harassed her growing up in Starkhaven than the well-fed, pampered brat she had always drawn up in her mind when thinking of Circle mages. Herah frowned. The Circles had not fallen so long ago that she would have wasted away this much, surely...had she been this thin even at the Circle? Herah wavered, then considered the fear on the face of the middle-aged man, and made her decision, cursing herself inwardly as she did so.

The girls breathing quickened, her small chest rising and falling ever faster when Herah reached down into the small supply bag at her belt. Rolling her eyes at herself for what she knew Maraas would think of as her very human softness, Herah silently passed her a skin of water, which the girl accepted greedily. Careful not to loosen her grip on the child’s arm, Herah reached down once more, pushing a handful of grain snacks into the pouch at the girls waist, before turning around, picking up the staff and dragging the child further into the forest, away from where she knew the others would be. Once she felt they had ventured an acceptable distance, Herah stopped.

‘Do you know where you are going?’ Herah asked roughly, knowing that this attempt at kindness would mean nothing at all if the girl got lost and starved to death. Or ran into templars. Or bandits. Or anyone, really. Herah sighed. Maybe she was safer in the Circle after all.

‘Yes,’ the girl said shakily. ‘Gerber wanted to go to Redcliffe. Said the others were there.’

‘Aaaand...do you know where Redcliffe is?’ Herah questioned, doubtful.

‘Yes. Gerber made me memorise the way.’ she swallowed. ‘In case...In case...’ Tears welled up in the girls’ eyes.

‘Maker’s breath. Alright. Ok. If I return your staff to you, you are not to attack me. I had no plans on killing children today.’

The child waited a few seconds, then nodded her understanding. Herah reached out and ripped a few pieces of fabric from her clothing, scattering them all around. She then pulled a small knife from her belt and took a step towards the girl, who blanched, looking even more pale against her dark hair.

‘Be still.’ Herah said gruffly, before lopping off the majority of the girls’ dark brown hair, and throwing it to the ground. ‘Burnt hair has a very...distinct smell.’ Herah half-explained.

Tentatively, Herah returned the staff to its tiny owner. Once it was in her hands, they both stared at each other nervously. When she was sure nothing untoward would happen, Herah dropped down to her knees and looked down at the girl, her hand resting on her tiny, bony shoulder.

‘Alanis?’ Herah asked, trying to be kind. Fresh tears welled up in her blue eyes at the mention of her name. ‘I need you to listen carefully. Go over there and do a very big...magey...fire explosion thing right here, at this spot. Then run in that direction for ten minutes. After that, do that...smoke, ice, wisp, whatever thing you did before. Avoid roads. Avoid people - even other mages. Do not travel in a group. Go directly to Redcliffe.’  
Alanis nodded, her now short hair standing up in awkward, ugly tufts. She then walked a few feet away and turned around. Herah gave an impatient gesture, but Alanis still looked reluctant.

‘For the love of - magic can’t hurt me right now, just-’

BOOM. 

Herah was enveloped in a fireball. She could feel her cheap leather armour peeling in the heat. Thick, black smoke billowed about her. The qunari lifted her arm against her face and walked out of the inferno, hunched over and coughing. Alarmed chattering rose up all around her as mercenaries sprinted towards her from various directions.

‘Herah? Are you ok?’ Anaan asked, his arm wrapping around her protectively. ‘Where is the mage?’

‘She panicked when I approached her...’ Herah began, then doubled over in another coughing fit. As if on cue, the smell of burned hair and leather rose up all around them to confirm her story.

 

***

 

‘The mageling?’ Shokrakar asked, once they returned to the ambush site.

‘Dead.’ Herah said curtly, ignoring the wail of grief that came from the older mage. It was better if he, too, believed her dead. She had a better chance of survival that way.

‘Vashedan!’ Shokrakar spat, her voice slightly regretful.

As the others began looting the caravan and preparing the prisoners for transport, Herah walked along the dusty road, stretching. Maraas joined her, his arms folded across his brawny chest. They both stood next to each other for a few wordless moments.  
Still staring ahead, Maraas uttered a word Herah did not understand before turning around and rejoining the rest of the Valos Kas.

‘Hissraad.’


	2. The Last Straw, Upstaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mages are dropped off, and Herah leads the Valos-Kas envoy to the Conclave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is rather long, but I hope it is an enjoyable read, rather than a tedious one.

‘-elf, dark hair down to here, you wouldn’t _believe_ -’

‘...human. Figure like a -’

‘-not particularly strong, but he had a _massive_ ’

Herah shook her head, turning away from the others to make eye contact with Shokrakar, who was sitting cross-legged outside of her tent rolling her eyes at the campfire conversation.

‘Could we, for one evening, not discuss your carnal conquests, Three?’ Herah said, exasperated.

Three peered up at her, his pockmarked face twisted in cruel glee. He had joined them only recently after his Tal-Vashoth crew was slaughtered by a few Ben-Hassrath agents. Nobody knew why he had chosen to name himself after a number, and the only response he gave to being asked was a half-hearted grunt.

‘Why? Because you have nothing to add to the conversation, as usual?’ he asked, feigning innocence.

‘I prefer to keep things to myself, yes.’ Herah answered, shaking her braids out of her face and injecting as much levity into her voice as she could muster.

‘Or is it because nobody will have you? No elven lover for you to tower over, then?’ Three asked slyly, aiming for what he had learned was a sore point with her.

‘What of your ‘vigorous’ attempts to popularize crotch rot amongst the humans? Is that why they threw you out of Par Vollen?’ she threw back. Raucous laughter rose up around the campfire. The finer frissons of genuine loathing and cruelty laced into the words were lost to the wider audience.

‘She isn’t just f-f-for anyone.’ Anaan slurred, jumping drunkenly into the conversation. ‘Herah is special and beautiful and she’s...sle...sleee...settling...with me...’

Herah shook her head, avoiding eye contact with the young man. Like her, Anaan was a Vashoth, though he had lived a life less fraught with hardships than she had. His mother had found work in Ferelden, and he had grown up as a farm hand before deciding at nineteen that he was better suited to a warrior’s life. He had taken a shining to Herah as soon as he was recruited. Probably because she was the only woman in Valos Kas beside Shokrakar - not that the others treated her any differently for it.

‘I told you. Once you become the Divine, we’re all set, Anaan.’ Another appreciative rumble of mirth rose up at her words.

‘You have a _cruel_ tongue and a b-b-black heart, Herah!’ Anaan complained, pinning the hair fanning into his eyes out of the way.

‘That’s not very romantic, is it?’ Herah teased, standing up with some difficulty. The ale they had drunk earlier was a lot more potent than she had realised. She steadied herself and made her way towards Shokrakar, who had lowered her head and returned to sharpening her daggers. The firelight illuminated her face dimly, throwing the fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes into sharp relief.

‘I grew up in a place where the notion of romantic love was not one I ever had to consider.’ Shokrakar said, her deep voice and qunlat accent injecting wisdom into her words. ‘Sometimes, I wonder if that was not a blessing. Anaan jests to cover his hurt at your rejection, and you snap at Three because he lays bare your own hopes and insecurities.’

Herah sat down next to her with a sigh. ‘It’s not that. He just rubs me the wrong way.’

Shokrakar did not look convinced, but she allowed the matter to rest. ‘You know, Herah, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should send a group of people to this so-called Conclave the humans have been speaking so much about.’

‘The problem between the mages and templars is a human one.’ Herah stated, turning slightly to face the older woman.

‘True. But mage hunting is where the coin is at. We should know how the wind is blowing. Might be time for us to find a new area of expertise.’

‘Pff. Humans can’t agree on anything. They’re only good for harming everything and everyone around them. You saw the templars after we handed them the mages. And most of the mages are...like rabid beasts. Driven to madness and desperation. Peace is unlikely. Humans? They revel in bloodshed.’ Herah realised she sounded bitter. She also didn’t care. Shokrakar knew her story. It was Shokrakar who had found her after her mother had been killed.

A gruff voice spoke up, announced by heavy footfalls. ‘It would be wise to attend the Conclave.’ Maraas.

‘Where were you earlier? I believe Anaan had your share of the ale we bought.’ Herah asked, her mouth turned upwards in a small smile, already knowing his response.

‘Pointless frivolity.’ they both said at the same time. Maraas narrowed his eyes at her in an affectation of annoyance. Herah knew better. Maraas was not as abrasive as he presented himself. His serious demeanor and abrupt manner had taken some getting used to though. He had warmed up to her fairly soon, though. She had even managed to coax laughter out of him once. He had uprooted a tree and beheaded a bandit soon afterwards, an almost tangible cloud of indignance wavering in the air around him. Herah had joked that he was trying to scare his face back into submission. 

Shokrakar and Maraas were still discussing the issue when Herah shook herself out of her reverie. She looked up and immediately made eye-contact with Anaan, who was staring at her forlornly from across the camp. Beside him, Three was still smirking.

‘I’m going to bed.’ Herah announced abruptly, making her way to her tent.

 

***

 

Shokrakar had decided to send an envoy to the Temple of Sacred Ashes after all. By the time the next evening came around, she had decided that Three, Anaan, Maraas and a few others would travel to Haven, with Herah as their leader. 

‘Is that...appropriate?’ Herah asked, looking at Maraas with uncertainty. He was a significantly better warrior, surely he had seniority?

‘She speaks sense, Shokrakar. Even Anaan is better suited to lead us.’

Anaan bristled at the slight. ‘Shut up, Three.’

‘Shut up, Anaan!’ Herah growled, irritated. She could defend herself, and she was tired of Anaan constantly coming to her rescue.

Maraas put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Be still, kadan.’

Shokrakar closed her eyes and shook her head, the ribbons she had tied to her left horn swaying from side to side. ‘Are you all quite done with this foolishness?’

Silence.

Shokrakar took a deep breath, then continued. ‘Herah, you grew up with humans. You know more about being amongst them than anyone else here. Now...prepare to leave. You don’t have much time.’

 

***

 

‘You know, I’d almost forgotten the stares.’ Anaan said conversationally.

Herah looked at him and nodded in solidarity. Despite the fact that they were practically surrounded by templars, the mages seemed unable to take their eyes off the small band of mercenaries. The templars weren’t much better by comparison, a few of them looking regretful at having had to deposit their weapons at the gates. Apparently weaponless qunari posed a bigger threat than mages who did not need weapons to cause widespread damage. 

Looking at the hard expressions on everyone’s faces made Herah think of Alanis. She hoped the girl had made it to Redcliffe, and that the mages there had plans to continue on, out of Ferelden if needed. If things ended badly here - as they were likely to - it was best she was as safe and as far away as possible.

Despite the huge crowd around them, the queue leading up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes moved quickly and efficiently forward. Herah was impressed. The guards at the massive, heavy doors gave them all a once over, then pointed towards the bench in the back. The Divine had already begun leading a small section of the Chant. Anaan bowed his head, and Herah followed suit. In her mind’s eye, she could see Three’s grunt of disdain. Maraas, she knew, would be staring stoically ahead, unconcerned by the actions of those around him.

Once the prayer was over, the Divine expressed her gratitude at the co-operation and restraint everyone had shown thus far, and her hope that this commendable behaviour would continue for the duration of the Conclave. She then excused herself, and made her way out of the reception area, followed by numerous Chantry sisters and Mothers of varying importance. A gradual muttering grew amongst the crowd, who began passionately discussing their hopes for the peace talks. Those who were not speaking were either taking in the marvelous fresco on the ceiling above them, or sneering at the opposition from across their various aisles.

‘Stay here.’ Herah told the others, rewarded with a scowl from Three and an enthusiastic nod from Anaan. Maraas reached out for her, making a signal for her to be careful. She smiled in response, then walked across the spacious hall, both mages and templars stepping out of her way as she went.

Herah was glad that the rest of the Temple hadn’t been cordoned off for the duration of the Conclave. Foolish as it was, she was glad of the opportunity to explore the place that Sister Elma had taught her so much about as a child. The Temple of Sacred Ashes and the legends connected to it - including the implausible sections involving the Hero of Ferelden and various creatures of a dragon-y persuasion - was a place that she had built a strange reverence for in her childhood. She had daydreamed about finding Andraste’s ashes and wishing...wishing for what exactly? To be shorter? Less white haired and red-eyed? More human? Less _horny?_ Herah snorted at that thought and shook her head. Before she could unravel the inner turmoil her day-dreaming had unleashed, her attention was drawn to one of the nearby rooms. Herah frowned in confusion. All of the other sightseers had returned to the main hall, losing interest long before she had.

A strange, otherworldly whispering flitted across her skin. She could hear banging and shouting, a female voice rising above the others, accusing, frantic. Something wasn’t right. Herah ran from door to door, opening them hurriedly, only to be greeted with emptiness. A strange singing erupted in her ears, setting her teeth on edge, followed by more desperate shouting. A female voice. Herah sprinted down the hall, crashing through a door to her left.

‘What’s going on here?’

Suddenly, Herah was running again. She had no idea where to, or what from - all she knew was that the air around her was _wrong_ , and that she needed to keep moving. She threw a glance over her shoulder. Dark wisps of nothingness yawned out towards her, a few tendrils lazily nipping at her boots, which hissed and fizzed as they dissolved into the void. Herah ignored the vice-grip of panic threatening to strangle her and slow her down, and spurred herself forward, the muscles in her legs burning in protest. Some of her hair, loosened from its braid by the caustic blackness behind her, floated gently around her head before whipping about her face for a few moments and then hanging suspended in the air once more.

A tinkling voice echoed in her ear, and Herah found herself climbing a mountain of bones that hadn’t been there moments before. There was a rhythmic echoing as the ground beneath her was eaten away by whatever that...thing...was that was chasing her. A blinding light seemed to reach out for her from above, and the sweet music in her ear grew louder and louder. She reached out for the light and-

Fell painfully forward, the craggy, burnt ground digging harshly into her knees. Weak and confused, Herah looked at the scene of destruction around her, not seeing much. What in Andraste’s name had happened to the sky? Where was the Temple? Where were the others?  
‘Maraas?’ Herah shouted weakly, struggling to her feet. She heard frantic footfalls speeding away from a distance, but did not have the energy to seek out the runners.  
‘Ah...shit...’ she moaned, holding her hand to her side. The siren song she had heard earlier was calling to her from all directions. She wiped her eyes, then stumbled over something, crying out as she fell to her knees once more. She turned around.

A corpse. Mangled and burnt beyond recognition, head turned upwards. Herah went numb. All she could hear was the strange singing and her own heartbeat, drumming a slow and steady rhythm in her ears, creating a feverish, twisted melody. She kept walking, knowing what she would find, but needing confirmation. When she found them, she could do nothing but stare. Crumpled and deformed. Bigger than the others. Horns disintegrating to ash in the wind. Everyone was dead. She only realised she was screaming when someone grabbed her shoulder and turned her around roughly.

‘Do you want the demons to hear you?’ he asked her incredulously, white knuckles betraying the vice-like grip he had on his staff. ‘Andraste’s flaming kni...WHAT the actual FUCK?’ he exclaimed, looking up at the sky, his blonde hair swinging wildly in its ponytail on every syllable. A few more obscenities tumbled out of his mouth before he absent-mindedly adjusted the feathers on his coat. Curses still raining from his lips, the pale man turned around to help her to her feet. He paused often to throw a few more bewildered glances at the scene around them. Once Herah was upright, he stared at the sky in disbelief for a few more seconds, then turned around and surveyed her from head to toe. He calmed himself, then smiled joylessly.

‘Well, well, well. You have certainly knocked me out of the history books, my qunari friend.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my early ideas for a Chapter title may have been 'My Explosion Is Significantly Bigger than Yours, And Has Wider Reaching Political Repercussions' but it was much too catchy, so I'm saving that name for any band I may form in the future.
> 
> Anders really is the marmite of DA characters, isn't he? I ADORED him in Awakening. Then after my first DA2 playthrough, it took me a long time to remember that 'fucking' was not the prefix to his name. (Spoilers, I guess) I replayed the whole series due to certain decisions I made that resulted in me not having the option of a 'Sacrificial Stroud' to throw at giant fade spiders (Hawke or Alistair? I refused to play that game of divide-the-baby, softie that I am). Anyway, back to Anders - Now, years later, I don't know how I feel about him.
> 
> Cullen next Chapter. Woot!
> 
> (Why am I rambling in this space? Exam stress?)
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated!


	3. Emergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newly formed Inquisition starts to look for the 'Herald'. Anders and Herah become unlikely heroes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on the chapter being this lengthy again, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to divide it into shorter chapters without them either being really filler-y or extremely short. I swear, I'll get the hang of this sometime...
> 
> Also, there may be a few typos here, apologies. I'm studying for exams so my brain is a bit frazzled by the time I get to proof-reading.
> 
> TW/Content Warning for a more or less detailed description of a panic attack.

‘We need to leave. I don’t expect anyone will take too kindly to our being here.’ the mage urged.

Herah simply nodded. A great tiredness was descending upon her, and she was happy to let this stranger take the lead.

‘My name is Anders, by the way.’ the man said, grabbing her hand, then letting it go instantly with a shocked cry. ‘What...what happened to your hand?’ he asked, while shaking his own.

Herah looked down. Her left hand was emitting an eerie green light. A slightly distorted parody of her own face was staring back at her from the strange void in her palm. This can’t be real, she thought to herself, taking fast and shallow breaths as her throat became tighter and tighter. Her eyesight began to swim and she was suddenly drenched in a cold sweat. She brought her right hand up to her chest in a vain attempt to soothe the stabbing pain that grew there. Everything was just a little too loud and much too cold and Maker was she dying and what had she done to -

‘Shhhhh... Everything is going to be fine. We are going to leave before anyone finds us and figure out what that...thing...on your hand is. Just...take deep breaths. I’m going to need you to follow me. We need to leave.’ The calm affectation of his words was undermined by the shakiness in his voice.

Herah became vaguely aware of him kicking something from her boots. She glanced down. Thin, glittering ropes of ice had sprung up from the ground around her feet, twisting and turning upwards, glittering tendrils curling inwards toward her calves. They were both beautiful and eerie, and they hadn’t been there a moment ago. Had she done that? Another stab of panic hit her, but Herah was left with no time to dwell on it when the air above them rippled slightly, then ripped open entirely. A sinister, gurgling laugh reverberated from the vacuum within as a clawed hand emerged from the other side, squirming and flexing experimentally.

‘RUN!’ Anders shouted, grabbing her arm and tugging her forward.

Hand-in-hand, the fugitives fled the now desecrated holy ground, spurred on by the silent screams of the petrified bodies genuflecting before the wounded sky in a profane mockery of prayer.

 

***

 

‘Andraste delivered her from the Fade! I saw it with my own eyes!’ the soldier insisted, wild eyed and frantic. 

Cullen decided to ignore the fact that she hadn’t addressed either himself or Cassandra with the appropriate title. Raising his fingers to the bridge of his nose, he turned to face Cassandra.

‘What do you make of this, Seeker?’

Cassandra closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the frown that had been etched into her face for hours deepening.

‘If this qunari had anything to do with the explosion, we need to find her immediately.’ the Seeker finally replied.

‘I take it this means you’re going to need me around for a bit longer, eh, Seeker?’ Varric said gamely.

Over the past few years, Cullen had nursed the belief that the dwarf worked hard to make a habit of appearing at the least opportune moments. That suspicion was now confirmed. Cassandra looked as if she was going to take a swing at him then and there, but thought the better of it when Solas appeared.

‘Lady Seeker, Commander.’ he said tersely, addressing them both with a curt bow of his head. ‘It is imperative we find this woman. I believe she may hold the key to understanding what took place here.’

Cassandra rounded on him, her unused fury towards Varric now directed at the elf. ‘What makes you think that? Do you know something about this?’

‘No.’ Solas replied simply, meeting her eyes with his own. 

When his gaze didn’t waver, Cassandra spun on her heel and walked toward Leliana, who was still sitting on a chair in the tent that only hours ago had been used to record the names of the incoming mages and templars. Nobody else had dared to disturb her since the explosion, when she had let forth a shriek of grief and rage so unhinged it had sent chills up Cullen’s spine.

 

***

 

It hadn’t taken long for news of the newly formed Inquisition to reach their ears. The bandits they had ambushed soon after leaving Haven had related news of soldiers setting up blockades along the roads, asking after a dangerous qunari woman. Herah and Anders had debated over what to do with their captives when Anders’ eyes had suddenly rolled in his head. He had unceremoniously executed them all, declaring imperiously that bandits had no right to live after the atrocities they had surely committed.

Herah was horrified. It was not that she hadn’t seen death - mercenary work came with a certain desensitisation to killing.

‘They were defenceless, Anders.’ she whispered, voicing her unease.

‘They were marauders, preying on the innocent!’ Anders proclaimed, waving his staff passionately, his eyes blazoning an electric blue. Herah’s mark flared up simultaneously, and a bolt of lightning arched away from her body with a loud crack, leaving scorch marks in the ground around her.

Anders fell to his knees, and Herah rushed forward to catch him. Her pushed her away weakly, his hands balled into fists.

‘You are better off travelling without me. I am...’ 

‘I’m in as much trouble as you are, Anders, if not more. I’m fairly sure killing the Divine and decimating a site dedicated to Andraste trumps what you did in Kirkwall.’ Herah said, ignoring his protests and helping him to his feet. ‘Anyway, I already know you’re an abom...I know what you are.’ she said, her voice wavering slightly. ‘The Chantry made sure that everyone knew that a possessed mage had destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry and murdered everyone inside. You don’t look like any...abomination...I’ve seen though...’ she said, trying to phrase her sentences carefully, aware that her words were not of a kind nature.

If she had angered him, he did not show it. Anders regarded her curiously, a slight smile playing on his lips. ‘Where would you have seen abominations?’

Ah. Shit. ‘Around. Rebel mages, when they’re fighting the templars, sometimes...they...’ she rambled, hoping he wouldn’t probe further. She surmised announcing her mercenary group’s relationship with the templars and their subsequent mage-hunting allegiance would not go down well with the apostate. Guilt simmered in the pit of her stomach at her lie of omission.

‘I see.’ Anders said, his eyes clouding over in regret. His voice betrayed a profound, unvoiced sadness. Herah didn’t quite know how to respond, so she began to search the bandit camp for useable supplies.

‘The mark on your hand. It’s obviously connecting you to the Fade. I think that’s why you've been releasing magical energy.’ Anders said abruptly.

Herah welcomed the change of subject. She contemplated his words. ‘Do you think I could learn to control it?’

‘Maybe. We could try.’

Still discussing the possibilities, they dragged the bodies of the slain bandits away from the camp. Anders set them alight, magically containing the inferno so that it did not draw undue attention. Once this macabre task was completed, they returned to the camp, setting up their bedrolls close to each other, taking solace in the anonymity the forest and the night sky offered them. 

 

***

 

Mother Giselle sat huddled inside the small building, unsure of how to calm the refugees hiding from the horrors outside. The rebel mages and templars had made the Crossroads their battleground over the past week, the fallen bodies littering the small settlement a sharp contrast to the beauty of the surrounding landscape. Fearing for their lives, the refugees had been forced to barricade themselves inside their homes. The vain attempts of the brave and the foolhardy at escape had reinforced the terror the refugees felt. The combined despair, anger and death had rapidly stretched the veil until it hard torn open, spewing out demons. That was when the real horror had begun. Mother Giselle knew it would not be long before they were all slaughtered - it was a miracle they had managed to survive as long as they had.

‘Mother!’ A young woman crouching at a window exclaimed as she peered outside. She was frantically shushed by everyone around her, but she ignored them, crying out ‘Mother Giselle!’ while beckoning excitedly for the older woman to look out of the window.

Resigned, Mother Giselle crawled carefully across the dirty floor towards the window and peered tentatively outside. A giant horned woman was cutting through the chaos, attacking mage, demon and templar alike, her sword flashing as it surged through the air. The qunari plunged her into a rage demon, splitting it upwards in a flash of metal and fire before using the now red-hot weapon to pounce on a shade. She then turned and shouted something at one of the mages, who turned to his compatriots in an attempt to reason with them. They ignored him entirely, forcing him to throw a few fireballs their way. The qunari was taking on the templars in the meantime. She was quickly overwhelmed however, a particularly strong shield bash throwing her on her back. Before her opponent could make short work of her, she threw up her hand, sending a weak jolt of electricity running through his armour, slowing him. Her mage friend, done with the rebels, then froze the man solid, allowing her to quickly jump to her feet and decapitate him, her mouth open in what must have been a blood curdling roar.

The devastation they were wreaking on the combatants and the demons was impressive, but futile. The hope that had flared up in the observers from the hut was quickly dampened as more demons poured forth from the rift, causing havoc amongst the still-swelling ranks of apostates and templars. The two would-be heroes seemed to recognise the fruitlessness of their endeavour, and began to retreat slowly. The mage threw up alternating walls of ice and fire to cover their withdrawal, but to no avail. The horde advanced on them, and when a particularly determined templar knocked the qunari to the ground once again, she could only throw up her hand in vain. The blade went deep, but the templar burst into flame before she could do any more damage, her mage friend rushing to her side. The qunari’s hand was still up, even as blood soaked through her armour. A strange green glow emanated from her, rapidly becoming an almost blinding light that sent mages and templars scrambling in its wake. The demons writhed and wailed, making frenzied attempts to reach her before the rift above them suddenly imploded in on itself and they dissolved into the air.

A few refugees ventured slowly out of their homes. Mother Giselle pushed past all of them, running towards their saviours, disbelief, awe, and fear for the woman’s life fighting for emotional priority in her heart. The mage had guided the woman gently to the ground and now held his hands above her wound as he murmured soft words of comfort under his breath.

When he became aware of her presence, his tone changed, though he did not stop tending to the qunari. ‘Stay back! Save your thanks. I did not cut down my fellow mages for the likes of you.’ His voice cracked, heavy with emotion. 

Mother Giselle stopped in her tracks, saying nothing. Deciding finally that her presence would cause more distress than actually be helpful, she returned to the refugees, and began co-ordinating resources. When she turned around, the qunari woman had come to, and was looking at where the rift had been in bewilderment. The mage helped her to her feet and they had a short conversation that ended in the mage shrugging. They then disappeared into the forest. The Inquisition arrived a few days later, bringing with them both resources and aid as well as questions about a bloodthirsty qunari and a murderous apostate.

 

***

 

‘My scouts report that they have heard more whisperings of this so-called Herald.’ Leliana said, hunching over the war table, pinning tokens to the map to show their movements. After she had snapped out of her stunned state, she had set to work immediately, sending her agents to canvass the area and gather as much information on the qunari woman. Cullen had set up blockades, hoping to slow her progress, though he doubted very much that she would be travelling by the main roads.

Their search had been significantly hindered by the reverence the common folk seemed to have for her. Information gathering had proved ineffective - the majority of people Leliana’s scouts had questioned had been reluctant to turn on someone they perceived to have been blessed by the Maker himself. The rumour about Andraste delivering her from the Fade had spread quickly despite Cullen’s specific orders that the soldiers were not to repeat what they thought they had seen. There were now new whisperings that the qunari could close the fade rifts that had sprung up since the Breach. Her now growing legend was spreading like wildfire, the flames fanned with every new revelation about her.

Josephine spoke up, her eyebrows knotted in concern. ‘While we have gained many allies since our inception, many are still reluctant to side with us. They see us hunting down a holy figure and assume we are going against the Maker’s wishes. Lady Vivienne reports that this sentiment hasn’t reached Orlais...yet. The Ben-Hassrath sent Iron Bull to us to help put an end to what they perceive as a threat. They are concerned about the Breach but they also don’t want a...a _second coming_ of Andraste. The Chantry is too weak to offer us any support. We need to-’

‘What about the _Breach_?’ Cullen interrupted, his voice raised, emphasizing his incredulous tone. ‘None of this has any importance. There is a _hole_ in the sky, and demons roaming what used to be the resting place of _Andraste_ herself! I lose good men and women out there _every day_ , trying to keep the demons out of Haven. I don’t CARE who this woman is! Either she caused the Breach and must be held accountable, or she can help close it. We need to be out there, looking for her, not in here, planning juvenile tea parties with Maker knows who-’

The sour looks both Leliana and Josephine gave him stopped him in his tracks. 'I apologise.' he said flatly, more out of politeness than any sentiment of contrition. He could feel a familiar headache knocking behind his skull, setting his teeth on edge.

‘We know that she is in the Hinterlands.’ Cassandra noted. ‘Redcliffe? The rebel mages?’ Her question and its implications hung in the air, heavy but unanswered.

‘One more thing. She’s not alone.’ Leliana flashed the others a look. ‘She has been seen in the company of a certain apostate. From the descriptions the refugees and villagers have given, I assume...’

Cullen already knew where this was going. ‘It’s _Anders_.’ he said, spitting out every syllable.

They were travel ready the next day. Cassandra kept her eyes straight ahead, setting a punishing pace on her horse. Before mounting his own steed, Cullen took one last look at the Breach, the swirling, undulated wound in the sky looming darkly above them. Maker watch over them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and as always, any feedback is appreciated! Stay excellent!


	4. Apprehension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herah and Anders find shelter at Winterwatch Tower. Awkwardness ensues. In the meantime, Cassandra and Company arrive in the Hinterlands and make their way to Dwarfson's Pass, and the Inquisition gets a little too close for comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just come to terms with the fact that I write long chapters. (Long for me, anyway.)
> 
> Slightly NSFW.

Herah lay down on her bed with a sigh, grateful that it was long enough for her legs. While she had at first protested her need for such a luxury in a keep that already lacked adequate space for everyone, Speaker Anais (backed up by everyone else) had insisted that being the Herald of Andraste warranted more comfortable sleeping arrangements. Herah put her hands behind her head, listening to the rustle of the wind in the trees outside. She sniggered slightly to herself when she considered the nightclothes she was wearing. One of the former noblewomen had donated them to her, stating they should have been a gift for her husband. (When Herah had attempted to offer her condolences, the woman had assured her that her husband was very much alive and invested in the business of being a _‘lying, cheating, shithead pox-ridden sonofabitch’_ elsewhere.) While the nightclothes were clearly made of very expensive silk, they felt awkwardly tight in some places while billowing out and bunching up in others. Still, Herah could not fault her for her kindness, and they were certainly a lot more comfortable than the scratchy woollen garments she and Anders had scavenged from the bandit camp.

The candle on the makeshift table flickered, making the shadows on the wall dance chaotically. Other than the sporadic hooting of owls, there was no sound in the Keep; everyone had gone to sleep hours ago. Herah breathed a sigh of relief. She was alone for the first time in a _very_ long time. Her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip. Taking a shaky breath, Herah closed her eyes and ran her hand softly over her breast, toying gently with the hardening nipple. She savoured the goosebumps breaking out over her skin at the thrill and anticipation she hadn’t felt in so long. A dense, heavy hunger was building in the pit of her stomach, the intense flickering mirroring her silent exhilaration. She pinched and tugged at her nipple, biting her lips at the frisson that sent through her body. Her other hand quickly undid the ribbon at her waistband. Herah drew her knees apart, her breath and her heartbeat quickening. She arched her back slightly as she slid her fingers under the waistband -

The door flew open loudly, and her hand shot out of her pants as Anders walked in wearing simple cotton breeches and not much else. His hair was askew, as if he had been tossing and turning on it for a while. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t sleep, Berand snores and I decided even the floor here would be...’ his eyes widened as his brain finally caught up to what he had walked in on. ‘Ah. _Maker_...I’m sorry, I should’ve knocked! Ah...I’ll just er...see myself out. Erm...as you were.’ he said, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to leave.

‘No. It’s fine. It can be awkward now...or awkward tomorrow. And I’d rather not have to sneak out of here at the crack of dawn to avoid you.’ Herah had thrown her hands over her face, and her whispering had barely made it past her fingers. 

Anders seemed to have understood the gist of her words, and he inelegantly made his way across the room, taking a seat at the end of the bed. Face burning, Herah slid forward and sat next to him, instantly regretting the decision when she realised that the narrowness of the bed forced their arms to touch. They sat in silence, much too aware of one another, both of them staring at a fixed point on the wall opposite them.

Herah gathered what little bravery she could muster and turned to face him.

‘So...turns out talking it out was a _terrible_ idea.’

Anders laughed, turning up to look up at her. The hours they had spent in the sunlight had caused a light smattering of freckles to spring up across his nose. The dark rings that usually encircled his eyes had lightened somewhat since they had closed the rift and had been invited to hide in the Keep. His hair, no longer in a ponytail, was longer than Herah had expected. He hadn’t had a chance to shave yet, and his face was significantly more stubbly than it had been when they had first met. Taking in his deep brown eyes and long lashes, Herah surmised that he must have been an extremely handsome man, before - She blinked rapidly, realising she was being rude. When she refocused, Anders was staring at her, a bemused look on his face. 

Herah wasn’t sure who had initiated it, but when the kiss came, they were both unready for it, and their teeth clacked against each other. What they lacked in coordination, they more than made up for in urgency, however. Anders pushed her gently back onto the bed, and Herah obliged, scooting backwards and taking her weight on her elbows - Anders was no warrior, and she held no illusions about being carried to bed in his arms. He leaned forward, bringing his knee up between her legs as he took her nipple in his mouth, nipping and biting it through the silk, leaving it straining against the wet spot when he moved to her other breast, gently biting and sucking. Herah ground greedily against his leg, gasping when he raked his teeth across her nipple. She reached down and slowly ran her hand up his now rapidly hardening member. A strangled, throaty groan left his mouth, and he lifted his head up, leaning in for a kiss. Once the kiss was over, they looked at each other, both knowing what came next. Herah felt a strange regret and reluctance suddenly take over her. She had opened her mouth to voice it when Anders rolled off her with a sigh.

‘I’m sorry. I - I can’t.’ His hand was covering his eyes.

‘It’s fine.’ Herah said, relieved that he felt the same way.

A companionable silence filled the room.

‘I’m in love.’ Anders admitted suddenly.

‘Slow down there buddy. I know I’m good, but I don’t like you like that.’ Herah joked.

Anders snorted. ‘In another life, you would make a suitable court jester.’

‘Thank you. From ‘Herald of Andraste’ to ‘suitable court jester’? With leaps like that, my career is on a steep upward trajectory. In fact, you will have to _pay_ for my company in my next life.’

Anders convulsed with laughter at that one, causing Herah to need to shush him. She felt warm. She didn’t think she had ever heard him truly laugh.

Still chuckling, he continued. ‘Her name was...is...Marian. She’s run off with a _pirate_.’

For some reason, this sent both of them into renewed peals of laughter.

‘She not into threesomes then?’ Herah asked, still giggling. There was no reply. For a second, she thought she had crossed the line. When she turned to apologise, Anders was red in the face, shoulders shaking as he writhed next to her in silent hysterics.

Herah gaped at him, perplexed, unaware of how she had triggered such a reaction.

When Anders finally sobered up, he muttered, his voice still quivering with mirth, ‘None of that was funny, you know.’

‘I know.’ she replied.

The silence that descended was heavier than the last one. It marked the end of the short time and space where they were nothing but friends laughing at their absurd circumstances. In this silence, they were again fugitives on the run, in a world that included abominations, demons, mages, templars and the Inquisition. This was real, and everyone was still dead, and she couldn’t turn to Shokrakar for help or comfort or protection. Anaan could never again flash her an easy, boyish smile after a particularly terrible attempt at flirtation. Maraas would never again impatiently grab the vitaar mixture out of her hands and order her to wash the pathetic dribbles from her face.

As if they had been waiting for this moment, hot tears began to cascade out of her eyes, gravity pulling them into her hair and over her ears before they dripped onto the pillow.

‘I’m sorry.’ Anders said, mistaking the reason she was crying.

‘It’s not you.’ Herah reassured him, her quavering voice thick with emotion.

The candle suddenly went out, the wick burned down. Herah felt the sheets rustle as Anders reached out for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. Suddenly, a blue flash illuminated the room, and he withdrew his hand and left wordlessly. Clearly Justice did not approve. Contrary to earlier in the night, the emptiness around her only served to make Herah feel crushingly alone.

 

***

 

‘So, it turns out that the Herald is up at the keep in Dwarfson’s Pass.’ Lace Harding relayed the news cheerfully, trying hard not to let a proud smile take over her face.

‘How - how do you know this?’ Cullen asked, impressed. They had barely arrived in the Hinterlands a day ago and now they had a target, a purpose.

‘Oh, a few of those cultists - or former cultists, I dunno - came down from Winterwatch Tower with food and blankets. Claimed the ‘Herald of Andraste’ had told them to help the refugees.’ The scout paused, then continued thoughtfully, ‘You know, if she asked them to do that, she can’t be all that bad, can she?’

Cassandra grunted, her reply neither here nor there. Cullen decided to jump in, asking the dwarf if she could rally up a few soldiers who knew the area.

‘We will leave for Dwarfson’s Pass first thing in the morning.’

‘Of course, Commander. You’ll have your soldiers.’ Scout Harding gave a small salute and walked away.

‘Gotta hand it to the Inquisition. Its forces are... _very efficient_.’ Iron Bull said appreciatively.

‘You mean the _redheads?_ ’ Varric asked slyly.

‘You wound me.’ Iron Bull said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. 'Plus, I may have my attentions on...a _different_ redhead...'

Varric stopped in his tracks, automatically reaching for his own hair, a look of realisation dawning on his face. Iron Bull flashed Cassandra a cheeky smile, and she looked away into the distance to hide her gleeful expression at the dwarf's consternation.

 

Cullen, Cassandra, Varric and Iron Bull headed out for Dwarfson’s Pass the next day, accompanied by a handful of Harding’s best men. Cullen doubted they would need more - according to the scout, there were very few people at the Keep with any notable fighting ability. The loose pebbles that once constituted a pathway clattered noisily as they walked up the last incline towards the gate.

 

***

 

Herah sat cross-legged on her bed. Her head was tilted to the side as she quickly and deftly braided up the last free strands of her hair before holding it all up and securing it in her customary bun. Gone were the days when she had the time to create elaborate styles that incorporated her horns and the red ribbons that she assumed had some cultural significance that had not been passed down to her. She felt a slight pang of regret that she had never thought to ask Shokrakar about it. She had always assumed she wouldn’t want to know - her parents had left the Qun for a reason, after all - but now that she felt so achingly, _obviously_ different from everyone else, she wanted something all her own to hold on to. She snorted to herself. She wasn’t sure if she was the worst or the best kind of qunari - ignorant about her background, raised in a city that reviled her and brought up with a religion that didn’t want her. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. The answer to that question probably depended on who was asked.

Lord Berand burst into the room, closely followed by Anders.

‘The Inquisition is here!’ Berand hissed, his dark eyes wide. ‘Speaker Anais is stalling them for as long as she can. You need to go.’

Herah jumped to her feet, slipping hurriedly into her boots, glad that Anders’ insistence on round-the-clock readiness had instilled the habit in her.

Anders remained calm, giving the room a hasty once over before sneaking out, beckoning for Berand and Herah to follow. Anders removed a mirror from the pouch at his waist as they crawled towards the balustrade. Confident that there was no sunlight to cause the mirror to flash and reveal their location, he passed the mirror to Herah, who held it up at an angle so the three of them could watch events in the courtyard unfold.

The first thing they noticed was the titan of a qunari casually holding his battle-axe over his shoulder.

‘Do you know him?’ Anders asked, realising only after it had left his mouth that it was a rather foolish question.

‘Let me just tap into the qunari hive-mind and - of _course_ I don’t know him. Do you recognize the _humans_?’

He grabbed the mirror from her hands, then angled it slightly. ‘Actually...I _do_. The blonde, he was in Kirkwall...Herah - I don’t mind being outnumbered. We can deal with outnumbered. But with a templar negating my powers, I don’t think we can...’

‘Let’s just not get caught, OK? Berand - is there a way down that doesn’t involve us going through the courtyard?’

Berand shook his head, horrified. It seemed they would have to rely on Speaker Anais.

Things seemed to go smoothly, until the qunari looked upward, directly into the mirror in such a way that he made perfect eye contact with Herah. She sent a silent prayer to the Maker hoping that it was a lucky accident. No such luck. The man turned to the short-haired brunette beside him, and pointed upwards. The woman drew her sword immediately, causing a few people to cry out in shock. The blonde warrior stepped forward and put his hand on her shoulder, which seemed to still her. She put away her sword and all of them made for the staircase. Anders jumped to his feet, contemplating various methods of escape out loud, each one more implausible than the last. Herah however, stepped towards the balustrade and looked down.

The people had formed a blockade, keeping the would-be pursuers out of the tower. The atmosphere was quickly becoming tense, and a few of the residents were starting to throw things. While the woman’s eyes were hard, she seemed unwilling to allow anyone to come to harm, and was trying to reason her way into the keep, riling the crowd up even more. Herah knew what was going to happen next. If things turned to violence, the woman was going to have to defend herself and...even if the Inquisition tried to be merciful, people would be hurt. They were going to reach the stairs either way. The only thing Herah could control was _how_.

‘We cannot allow them to come to harm. They have affronted nobody.’ Justice said assertively. The clipped way his words left his mouth suggested that Anders did not agree with him.

Herah leaned over the balustrade and took a deep breath.

‘STAND DOWN! DO NOT RESIST THEM.’

‘Andraste’s saggy left ti-’ Anders was back.

The crowd parted reluctantly, and the Inquisition pushed its way into the Keep.

Herah turned to face Anders (who looked rather stricken) and Berand. ‘You two better come up with a bloody brilliant plan for our escape.’

‘I have an idea. We might die, though.’ Anders said, deep in thought. His shaking hands betrayed the gravity of their current predicament.

‘ _Might_ die?’ Herah asked, reaching behind her for her sword, a wry smile playing at her lips. ‘I like those odds.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Herah/Anders part is based on a true story that a friend has kindly allowed me to use in this fic - Thank you!
> 
> I underplayed the steaminess of the NSFW parts. I figured that since they weren't really feeling it, it would be odd to have them going at it REALLY passionately before 'noping' their way out. I hope that works! I Suppose I'll have to earn that explicit rating later.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter, and as always, feedback is appreciated. Stay golden!


	5. Burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herah and Anders clash with the Inquisition. Things do not go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaack. Sorry for the long break, exams came by and I used up all my creativity pretending I knew the answer to things. But I'm free now, which is fantastic.
> 
> Headcanon that ice magic has to be dispelled, because Winterwatch and also, story progression stuff.

Cassandra disappeared into the keep as soon as the crowd parted, followed by Varric and a few other Inquisition soldiers. Cullen kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, uneasy with how simple it had been to gain entry into the old fortress. In fact, he had felt apprehensive as soon as they had entered the courtyard. The so-called Speaker of this sizeable cult had been a little too friendly towards them, and her so-called followers had averted their eyes and gone about their business a little too casually. Not that he minded - he was getting rather tired of the hostile stares and the resentful whispering that had accompanied their previous queries into the whereabouts of the so-called Herald and her mage accomplice.

With a surge of anger, Cullen wondered how it was that Anders seemed to inspire such loyalty in people. Ner...Warden Commander Surana had shielded Anders from re-capture by the Templars, then turned a blind eye when he did what he did best and fled the responsibilities of his new station. Hawke had taken him under her wing and sheltered him from the Gallows. Later, instead of killing the man for his atrocities, she had facilitated his escape. Exhaling heavily, Cullen turned around and walked back into the courtyard. From the heavy footsteps he could hear behind him, he knew Iron Bull had followed him. When he glanced to the side, he could see the mercenary beckoning to a few soldiers, who quickly backed out of the crowded space to stand behind them, their eyes trained on the soon-to-be captives on the balcony above. 

‘Too crowded. Not much point sending an army upstairs when they’re already cornered and there’s no way down.’ Iron Bull shrugged slightly as he answered Cullen’s wordless question.

‘What if-’

‘She cares about these people. She won’t risk a fight. As for the mage - Cass went up first.’

With a small sigh, Cullen turned his gaze upward once more. Anders and the qunari were simply standing there, conversing with one another. She leaned in, giving him a quick hug. Cullen sighed once more. For a penniless abomination who had been on the run for the better part of a decade, he certainly did have a way with the ladies. Not that it mattered. Nobody was going to take pity on him this time. The Inquisition would finally put right the wrongs that had stacked up on top of each other, crushing innocents beneath their weight. Cullen could finally atone for his own misguided kindness in allowing Hawke to leave Kirkwall with Anders. His hands curled into fists. How often had he turned a blind eye to the mage who followed Hawke around, even into the very Gallows themselves? The Divine had paid for that mistake. 

The _Hero_ of Ferelden. The _Champion_ of Kirkwall. And Cullen Rutherford, who should simply have _known_ better. How much blood did they all have on their hands on account of a man who each of them should have done away with many times over? So many of his soldiers were paying for their mistakes every day as they fought the never-ending horde of horrors at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. A small headache began tugging at his temples, and Cullen realised he had been clenching his jaw much too tightly for comfort. When he relaxed, he could hear the blood pulsing in his head, the sudden rush bringing with it the insatiable craving he pretended he no longer had. He clenched his teeth together once more, his breath shallow and shaky. He broke out in a sudden sweat.

Cassandra, Varric and the soldiers finally reached the balcony. A smirk pulled at the edge of Cullen’s lips. It was finally over. Anders and the qunari took a few steps towards the Seeker, who had her sword raised and was shouting for Anders to drop his staff. Varric made a small quip about how Anders had certainly expanded his repertoire since the last explosion. There was none of the usual joviality in his voice, though. The prisoners did not respond, and simply halted a few feet away from Cassandra, who was edging closer warily. 

The open space in the balcony wall - likely brought about with time and the occasional siege weapon - allowed a steady breeze to play with the hem of the coat Cassandra always wore over her armour. Anders’ cloak fluttered about his boots in a similar fashion. The qunari held her head high, her stance defiant. Her pose was almost regal. Iron Bull suddenly drew his sword, and made for the gate. A few soldiers followed suit. With a start, Cullen realised why. Theirs was not the demeanour of two people about to surrender. Varric’s exclamation of ‘Shit!’ provided a suitable precursor to what happened next. Anders and the qunari linked arms and sprinted towards the open space beyond the breach in the wall. Cullen made for the exit, ignoring Cassandra’s sudden cry of pain.

***

The ground seemed to rush up to meet them much too fast, and the landing was much, much harder than what Herah had prepared for. She drew herself up onto all fours. Warm liquid dribbled down her chin, and she realised she had bitten herself upon impact. She turned to Anders, who was already on his feet. Eyesight swimming, she pointed out that it must be nice to be able to heal oneself during death-defying plunges from ramparts. Her voice sounded strange and slurred to her ears. She could feel warm hands on her body, and a surge of something through her veins. With that realisation came pain and awareness. She had definitely broken a few things on impact. She hissed and spat blood onto the ground before shakily attempting to stand up. Their would-be captor shouted orders from above them, her voice thick with frustration. 

Herah limped forward, away from the keep and into the sunlight. Anders mumbled banalities at her, his voice shaky with adrenaline and relief. His eyes were still wide when he took a swig from hip-flask of lyrium he kept for emergencies. Herah took in his somewhat erratic behaviour. He clearly hadn’t expected to survive the jump. His plan had succeeded, however. The barrier he threw up had protected them from certain death, and his healing magic was making up for the what the barrier could not prevent. By the time she unsheathed her sword, Herah no longer felt disoriented and the pain she had felt earlier was subsiding significantly.

Anders turned to face her, his face prematurely jubilant. Over his shoulder, Herah saw the qunari who had given away their position race towards them, battle-axe raised above his shoulders. A few soldiers followed hot on his heels. 

‘Get the gate!’ Herah shouted frantically, shoving Anders hard in the shoulder.

***

Cullen made it through the gate just in time. A massive wall of ice materialised out of nowhere, blocking off the entire entrance to the keep and preventing the rest of his forces from joining the battle. Anders.

The soldiers who had dared to take him on now lay prone on the ground. With a roar of pure rage, Cullen drew his sword and made for the mage. Cassandra was shouting something from the balcony, but he chose to ignore her. Anders turned and raised his staff, sending a few fireballs his way, which quickly dissipated when Cullen raised his hand. Anders regarded the former templar in surprise. Cullen knew he was wondering why he had been able to cast his magic in the first place. The commander gnashed his teeth when he saw a smirk of realisation sneak across Anders’ rugged features.

‘What’s this?’ the man asked his voice deepening as his brown eyes slowly turning to an eerie blue, ‘A templar without his leash?’

Cullen would have broken his oath and taken lyrium one final time if it would grant him the power to render the abomination before him completely helpless. Instead, he raised his sword, prepared to bring about the justice this man so richly deserved. Anders’ lifted his staff, then crumpled to the ground, shouting in agony. Cassandra. Cullen looked up and saw the Seeker standing at the edge of the keep, her face twisted in pain and her arm pressed to her side. Her eyes were sharp with concentration. Beside her, Varric was gesturing wildly.

‘Help Bull!’

Cursing himself for so easily losing sight of their purpose, Cullen turned to the two qunari behind him. The woman was limping slightly, and her movements were rather stiff, but otherwise, she was none the worse for her fall. Iron Bull clearly surpassed her in both strength and skill, but she was slightly faster and much more enterprising, and had managed to back out of his range. Iron Bull had put the chain he kept wound around his wrist to good use, and it was only moments before it was wound around her ankle, bringing her to the ground. The woman scrabbled vainly for purchase as she was dragged backwards unrelentingly. Twisting onto her back, fugitive pressed her hand onto the chain and sent a current of electricity running through it, forcing her much larger captor to free her. The Iron Bull smiled widely, his good eye twinkling.

‘This is going to be _so_ good.’

 

***

Herah was not ready to die, but she didn’t have much fight left. After her trick with the lightning, the blonde templar had blocked her every attempt to make use of the mark on her hand. Anders was lying prone on the ground a few feet away from her, shaking in pain. She didn’t know how, but they were torturing him. Hatred rose up within her, and she let loose a large aura of fire, which was quickly fizzled into nothingness. The qunari they called the Iron Bull swung his axe at her, and she barely managed to evade the blow. Then, with unexpected agility, he stepped towards her and struck the weapon from her grasp with his own. He cried out triumphantly in qunlat as he threw his battle-axe to the ground. Herah frowned in confusion, smacking away his hand when he reached for her.

‘You know, it would be easier if you just-’ he began, before Herah threw a punch his way. Bemused, he rubbed his jaw.

‘Look, we’re just-’ Iron Bull was clearly trying to be patient with her.

Herah hit him again.

‘Lady, I am trying to-’

Her fist caught him square on the mouth.

‘Stop it, I’m - ENOUGH!’

This time, he deflected the punch rather easily. A slight scuffle ensued, the flying limbs and ducking horns obviously comical to those not involved, if the laughter of the dwarf on the balcony was anything to go by. The Iron Bull however, had clearly had enough of Herah’s little rebellion. He took a decisive step forward and head-butted her so hard she fell backwards onto the grass. It was over. Herah was all out of laughable, last-ditch efforts at escape. She felt nauseous. It would end here, on a hill in the Hinterlands, with Anders groaning in pain just a few feet out of her reach. Despite her best efforts, tears of frustration leaked out of her eyes, rolling down her face at an awkward angle due to the incline they had been fighting on.

Herah stifled a gasp, then lay the mark flat on the curved ground. 

‘You know, disappointing as that was, that’s the closest I’ve come to a real fight in a long time,’ Iron Bull said conversationally, circling her.

Herah ignored him, concentrating instead on the sheet of ice forming beneath her fingers and radiating outwards. She knew the grass was thick enough to hide what she was doing. Her main concern was that the templar would somehow sense she was using magic.

‘Are you going to stand up or am I going to have to carry you?’ she heard the Iron Bull ask.

Herah remained silent, and the grass rustled as the now-frustrated qunari made his way towards her. He leaned down and took hold of her upper arm. When he tried to lift her up, he lost his footing and nearly fell on top of her, only just managing to catch himself. Herah swiftly incapacitated him with a well-placed thrust of the knee before pushing him off her as he moaned in pain. She then crawled quickly away from him and forced herself back onto her feet, ignoring the vertigo that threatened to bring her down once more.

As shouts of alarm erupted all around, Herah sprinted towards Anders. The dark-haired woman in the keep was clearly the culprit behind his torment, but Herah had no idea how to deal with her. Distance was her best hope at saving Anders. In her peripheral vision, she could see Iron Bull stirring. She would have to act quickly. Herah raised her arm, and a blast of cold came from the mark before stopping abruptly. The templar. Herah turned to face him, her body trembling with hatred and anger. She was going to get Anders out of here.

***

Cullen was on his guard. The qunari was simply standing there, hands balled into fists. Her burgundy eyes were glowing in the sunlight and the few tendrils of snow-white hair that had snaked themselves out place now blew gently across her face. She had no weapon, yet her eyes flashed a warning Cullen knew she could and would fulfil if he gave her the chance. Standing there, battle-bruised yet unbowed, horns curling intricately around her hair, Cullen could not help but think she looked beautiful and terrible, like the mythical women in the stories his sister shared with him when he was younger.

The air around him crackled, and he was forced to stop and focus in order to counter her magic. As soon as he did, however, the qunari drew her hand back. Unable to react in time, Cullen was struck in the face with a force so tremendous he felt his nose break. His eyesight swam for a few seconds, but readjusted just in time to see her pick Anders up and throw him over her shoulder before fade-stepping away. Cullen cried out in exasperation. They had escaped once more, leaving nothing but chaos and destruction in their wake. He sat down, holding his head between his hands and ignoring the blood trickling from his nose and settling between his fingers. It was his fault.

A few hours later, he was still sat in the same spot. Cassandra had helped the mages from the keep dispel Anders’ ice wall. With the ‘Herald’ gone and out of danger, it seemed the Winterwatch inhabitants were more than happy to be civil towards the Inquisition. It was one of their mages, in fact, who had tended to his wounds earlier.

‘We will find her again.’ Cassandra said matter-of-factly, sitting down beside him.

‘It was my fault they escaped - I knew this would interfere with my duties as Commander.’

‘I will not have you replaced, Cullen.’ Cassandra was firm.

‘Everything rests on our ability to find them. If I cannot -’ Cullen deflated with a sigh when he saw Varric approaching. He vastly preferred this issue stay between himself and the Seeker.

‘Curly! Glad to see you’re handsome and solemn again. All is right with the world.’ Varric said by way of greeting. The dwarf then regarded Cassandra warily. ‘I’m sorry, Seeker. About Bianca, up there,’ the man offered cautiously.

Cassandra bristled. ‘Bianca? Your crossbow did not decide to hit me in the side on its own, Varric.’

‘Her own, Seeker. Her.’ Varric corrected, his tone extremely patronising. ‘Anyway. I’m gonna go check out Tiny. I’m not quite sure if he hates her for kicking him in the balls or...you know, I think he might be in love with her.’ Shaking his head, Varric made his way back to the keep.

‘Varric attacked you?’ Cullen asked, surprised.

‘He was right to do it. I would have dispelled the barrier, and they would have fallen to their deaths. I waited for him to heal her before I stepped in. However, I do not believe Varric’s excuse for not joining the battle. He is a good enough marksman not to have killed either of them but he...’ Cassandra trailed off with a sigh.

‘They were friends, once.’ Cullen said, echoing what he knew was the reason Anders had been offered so many second chances.

Silence stretched out between them for a few minutes and they watched the Inquisition forces set up tents on what had been a battleground only a few hours ago. Cassandra broke through the quiet with a question that had clearly been running through her head since the encounter.

‘Is she a mage? An abomination? She doesn’t use a staff, and yet...’

‘She is unlike any mage I have encountered. I cannot sense her magic the way I usually would. And even so, it is unrefined - wild. She isn’t shaping it the way circle mages do. I doubt she is an abomination.’

Cassandra shook her head, pursing her lips in consternation as she rose to her feet. ‘Something isn’t right.’

Cullen watched Cassandra leave. She was right to be worried. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy, somewhat spherical object that only just fit in his closed fist. It felt really good to have something so smooth and cold against his palm. Cullen held the ball up and regarded it in the failing sunshine. The last vestiges of daylight refracted beautifully through the flawless ice. He would find her. He would find Anders. He would not fail another time. Cullen considered the size and weight of the ball one last time before pocketing it once more. She had quite an arm on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this really smooth round(ish) pebble that I keep in the freezer and take out when I'm overly anxious. It just feels really calming because it's so smooth and cold. I would love to have someone magically create that for me. Preferably without the throwing and the nose-breaking. (Why must I use this space to ramble?)
> 
> About Cullen and Herah: Does that count as a meet-cute? 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Catching Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to unravel for both Anders and Herah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Things have been less than ideal on my end, but everything has calmed down a little bit and I can get back to writing. Apologies for the lateness and for any errors.

‘We should try questioning them again,’ Cullen growled angrily, narrowing his eyes against the bright sunrise.

‘The Herald will come to you if the Maker wills it,’ Varric answered in a rather laboured falsetto as he pulled Bianca off the makeshift table that now stood in the middle of the camp. 

Cullen allowed a boyish smirk to edge its way across his lips at the dwarf’s crude impersonation of Speaker Anais. He quickly corrected his features and allowed Cassandra to sidestep him and unfurl a rudimentary map across the table. With a judgemental grunt, she impatiently smoothed the uncooperative edges against the roughly hewn, splintered surface.

‘I do not believe these...fanatics...have any knowledge of where they went.’ Cassandra offered once she had finally managed to coax the map into staying flat.

‘Individual members may have grown close to them. I could-’

‘Curly, if you were going to say ‘interrogate’ them, I think our Ben-Hassrath friend may have beaten you to it.’

Gritting his teeth at the interruption, Cullen followed Varric’s gaze. A slight furore was unfolding at the gates of the keep. A gaggle of breathless young women tittered with poorly concealed excitement as Iron Bull swaggered past them at a leisurely pace, seemingly too preoccupied with adjusting his harness to pay them any notice. The women ogled his back for a few seconds before rushing into the keep.

‘What did you...’ Cullen began to ask before stopping himself, clearing his throat and reddening slightly.

‘Fraternising, Tiny?’ Varric cut in.

Cassandra ignored them all and pointed towards the map. ‘They are running out of options. They could try to leave the Hinterlands.’

‘They won’t. I have soldiers stationed here, here, here...and here.’ Cullen pointed towards various areas on the parchment, the tips of his ears still slightly pink.

‘Redcliffe?’

‘Not enough anonymity...’ Iron Bull leaned his massive frame over onto the table, his voice trailing off as he contemplated the options in front of them.

‘Some of my soldiers are stationed near Redcliffe. If we move inward from these roadblocks and fortify The Crossroads, we can cut off any possible escape routes, then close in on them from all sides. If we act quickly, we could have them in our custody within the week.’

Cassandra straightened in her usual abrupt manner, her eyes shining. ‘Are your people ready?’

Cullen nodded.

‘Then we move. I shall send word to Leliana - we may need some assistance.’

 

***

 

Herah considered the dishevelled mage pacing before her, doubt and fear swelling in her chest. ‘This is a terrible idea.’ Her hand prickled with pain that spread rapidly from her fingers to her wrist as it became enveloped in a thin layer of ice. Herah stifled a yelp while Anders waved a hand, dispelling the crystals. 

‘Are you-’

‘No Anders, I’m not fine.’

‘Someone in Witchwood may know how to help.’

His soothing tone, while meant to comfort her, only succeeded in sparking the temper that had begun to simmer on the surface of all their recent interactions. ‘Joining the mage rebellion while the fucking Inquisition hunts us down? _That’s_ your idea of staying under the radar?’

Anders gritted his teeth and pressed his hands to his temples, obviously trying very hard to keep his voice low in spite of his growing irritation. ‘Which of the other options available to us would you prefer we take? Should we turn ourselves in and save them the trouble instead?’

 

Herah bit back her rebuttal and sank to the ground, leaning back against a column of ice, her horns preventing her from sitting comfortably. Behind her, the frozen structures protruded from the ground with more frequency, looking for all the world like the jagged teeth of a colossal monster. Beyond them lay the gaping maw of a cave. They had watched people come and go from its depths for a few hours, unable to come to an agreement. Herah flexed her fingers, brows twitching slightly at the throbbing in her hand.

‘It’s me they really want,’ she said quietly, squeezing her eyes shut. ‘It may be impossible for me to escape, but if I give myself up, you can get away from all this.’

A few small twigs cracked in reply. Herah thought Anders was walking away in disgust until a pair of hands fell heavily onto her shoulders. When she opened her eyes, the mage was crouched in front of her, his expression stony and resolute. ‘I fled the Circle. I left the Wardens. I escaped Kirkwall. This isn’t ov-’

Exasperation welled up inside her. ‘If you manage to do this as a giant grey ox-woman emanating uncontrollable magic every few hours -’

‘We **WILL NOT** give in!’ Anders shouted, his eyes flashing blue for a moment.

‘A-Anders?’ Herah asked, her voice catching with fear. Her muscles had seized up during his outburst, and small flashes of electricity now jittered up and down her arm.

‘It’s...me. It’s me. I’m sorry. I haven’t...I haven’t slept much lately,’ the mage said, flumping down weakly beside her. ‘It’s...difficult...to keep Justice under control when I’m tired.’

‘Nightmares?’ Herah asked, trying to inject a casual tone into her still wavering voice.

Anders avoided her gaze, choosing instead to look back at the cave once more. ‘Something like that.’

Herah chose not to pry any further. He was, after all, not the only one keeping secrets.

Both companions were startled out of their individual reveries by a powerful voice, the baritone echoing eerily across the fog. ‘Whoever is out there, show yourselves! If you are a fellow mage, we can grant you safe harbour! If you are with the Inquisition, we suggest you turn around immediately!’

Anders’ face lit up as conspicuously as Herah’s face fell. Between scrabbling for their weapons and nonverbal exchanges of joy and trepidation, they missed warning that was uttered next.

A flash of heat, followed by a resonant crack dashed a nearby pillar of ice to pieces, the cold flecks pelting both fugitives in the face.

A shrill voice piped up. ‘And if you are templar scum, prepare to meet your Maker!!!’

Ander’s ignored Herah’s frantic pleas and crawled out from behind the pillar, arms raised non-threateningly. Herah had little choice but to follow suit, and was confronted by a small group of mages, one of whom gave a strangled gasp of recognition easily distinguishable from the murmurs of alarm set off by her appearance. Relief and fear made poor emotional companions, and Herah could feel a crackle of energy building up in her palm as both emotions curdled within her before spilling out onto her face. The oldest mage - clearly the head of this little group - turned to face the youngest, who was eyeing Herah with wide, blue eyes. Before he could utter a sound, the thin, bald mage beside him took a step forward, his staff readied. His pallid face was pulled into an expression of unadulterated contempt. Material rustled as Anders protectively put himself between the group and the qunari, both arms raised.

‘What exactly are you supposed to be?’ the bald man asked, his reedy voice saturated with disgust as he appraised the qunari.

Herah balled her hands fists so tight, her knuckles cracked. The older mage ignored this exchange as he addressed the blue-eyed girl once more. ‘Alanis? Do you recognise this woman?’

She had survived. Herah considered for one brief moment that her kindness in sparing the girl’s life had possibly come at the cost of her own. Alanis had filled out a little since that day in the forest, and her butchered hair was now shaped in a short, practical style. When the girl opened her mouth to speak, Herah could not help but think that these humans no longer looked quite so...tiny...to her. She imagined the thin man would do the honours of incinerating the mage hunter, the _monster_. Anders would flash blue, of course. Justice would know how best to handle her duplicity. Unless he wouldn’t...and the last thing she would have to see before she died was his look of...what exactly? Disappointment? Did disappointment cover this sort of thing?

‘No,’ Alanis said weakly. ‘I’ve just never seen a qunari before.’

‘Fool child,’ the old man chided. ‘I am Spaulding. If you aren’t - Denholm, _put that thing down_ \- ahem. We can offer Sanctuary for mages. You are certainly no mage. Are you two...’ the old main trailed off suggestively.

‘No!’ came the chorused reply. Herah and Anders regarded one another, before Anders launched into a highly abbreviated explanation of their circumstances, conveniently leaving out the part where he was _The_ Anders. He attempted to offer Herah the same anonymity, but the mark on her hand began to spark wildly, bringing her to her knees from the pain. Spaulding and Anders knelt beside her, the older mage examining the mark intently. The others stayed back, but Herah could make out various whispers of the words ‘Herald’ and ‘heretic’.

‘Can you help us?’ Anders probed eventually.

‘I don’t know. There may be others in Witchwood who know more about this than I.’

‘Are we even welcome? In Witchwood?’ Cynicism. Herah was sure she was slowly turning into Maraas.

’I cannot make this decision on my own. We have enough to contend with without the Inquisition hot on our heels. But...the _Herald of Andraste_...’ Spaulding muttered, slightly overwhelmed. He seemed to struggle internally for a moment, before saying simply, ‘One night. That is all I can offer, for now.’

 

***

 

‘Are you sure?’ Cullen asked the Free Marcher, careful not to step into the path of the supply caravans headed for The Crossroads.

‘I am.’ 

Leliana’s man spoke with the crisp politeness that only nobility could instil. His short, precise haircut and clean shave gave his youthful face a rather severe look, and he walked with a regimented stride that hinted at a military background.

‘This doesn’t make any sense,’ Cassandra exclaimed, her brows furrowed.

‘I questioned them personally.’ 

Scout Harding gave a small, curt nod as they approached the camp. She was bent over a missive and exchanging murmurs with an elf wearing a long sleeveless cloak. The younger off-duty soldiers, taking advantage of Harding’s pre-occupation, had begun to trade good-natured insults with a little more gusto than was appropriate. The swells of exuberant banter died down as the Commander neared, the men and women giving stiff salutes before going about their business less boisterously.

‘How reliable are your sources?’ Cullen asked.

‘We oversaw the Ostwick Circle together...before. The qunari is part of a Tal-Vashoth mercenary crew that has been...co-operating...with the leftover Chantry templars.’

‘ _Had_ been,’ Cassandra corrected, earning her a deferential nod from the young ex-templar. Her features softened. ‘Thank you, er-’

‘Trevelyan,’ the man offered, his blue eyes flashing in the sunlight. 

The figure beside Harding straightened, sending ebony hair cascading over dark skin. Taking note of this, Trevelyan signalled quickly to the elf, who immediately signalled back. Dark brows knotting slightly, he gave a short bow in farewell before striding away, pausing only to formally greet the elegantly dressed Vivienne. Solas, who had arrived with her, took this moment to extricate himself from her company, his blank expression a greater indication of his feelings for his fellow mage than any scowl of distaste.

‘She worked with the templars,’ Cassandra told him unceremoniously as he neared.

A flitter of curiosity crossed the apostate’s face, but when he opened his mouth to speak he was promptly interrupted by the ruffle and rustle of Vivienne’s approach. Cullen noted how the elf’s grip on his staff tightened momentarily before this brief flash of annoyance was seemingly expelled in a silent sigh.

‘That _is_ a rather interesting development,’ Vivienne commented. ‘The political implications alone-’

‘But what does it _mean_?’ Cassandra agonized irritably, her perpetual frustration finally coming to the fore.

‘Her motivations are irrelevant. She may be the only one who can close the Breach. We should focus on finding her,’ Solas insisted through his veneer of calm politeness.

Cullen nodded in agreement, before steering the conversation in a more practical direction. He was tired of wasting time. 

 

***

 

That night, reminiscent of an extensive game of chess, Inquisition troops, (augmented by a few templars) began edging towards Witchwood. Cullen wrapped his fingers around the smooth ice pebble in his pocket. They had her. _They had her_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting up more regularly from now on, which is quite exciting for me. I realised I really missed being able to write, even if this chapter was a bit of a struggle to get into words.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Witchwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herah and Anders find shelter in Witchwood. The mark becomes more bothersome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to chop this chapter in half - it kind of got away from me. Apologies in advance for any mistakes that may have slipped past me!

‘Well,’ Anders muttered, ‘ _that_ wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped.’

Herah peered at him through bleary eyes, gritting her teeth against the pain that had evolved from superficial jabs to a bone-deep _gnawing_ that radiated up her entire arm. In the past two hours, a swarms of mages had surrounded her, poked at her hand, argued amongst themselves and dispersed (still bickering), only to be replaced by a group of fresh faces, eager to offer their own frenzied opinion on the mark on her hand. Out of steam and out of ideas, they had disbanded once more, chattering in smaller groups and throwing her the occasional wary glance as the mark coughed out unpredictable spurts of magic. In time, this interest had faded too, and now most of the mages had disappeared into makeshift tents or pulled their bedrolls closer to the walls of the cave for privacy.

‘I...never mind.’ Herah swallowed her petty comment and decided to watch Alanis welcome yet another group of newcomers. Anders followed her gaze. 

This group of runaways was particularly wretched, their shoulders sagging under the weight of the blankets that Alanis draped over their tattered robes. She then directed them to the campfire, where a hearty potato soup was bubbling away in a cauldron. Despite her condition, Herah had to suppress a small smile. Granted, the soup had proved to be both tasteless and suspiciously...crunchy...but it had been warm, and filling, and everything they had needed after their strenuous journey from Dwarfson’s Pass. Alanis stopped for a moment to signal to a perpetually sour Denham to fetch more blankets, then turned and gave a start when she made eye contact with Herah. Her next interaction - a young couple hoping the moonless night would cover their journey to Redcliffe - was clumsy and laboured, and Herah knew she was reliving the events of that day in the forest.

‘What on earth was that all about?’ Anders whispered.

Herah decided sarcasm was the best way to cover the rush of shame she felt. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I tend to stick out. In the scary, forceful conversion to the Qun kind of way.’

‘Also, your hand is currently mocking the laws of the natural world,’ he added, helpfully dispelling the frost radiating from her.

‘That too. I like to spit in the eye of the Maker whenever I can.’ _I’m sorry, I don’t mean it._

‘Does it hurt?’ he asked, drawing her away from the guilt prodding insistently at her. She didn’t like to spit in the eye of the Maker whenever she could. She had, in fact, tried a few times to pray for some sort of intervention, always stopping short at _Hello, Maker_ and feeling too foolish to actually do it properly. 

‘Some _Herald_ I am,’ Herah muttered absent-mindedly, her voice hitching as the mark ripped at her nerve endings. ‘It’ll pass, I think,’ she added in answer to Anders’ question. A lie. Another sin to throw into the growing pit of doubt and fear and guilt.

Anders threw her a worried look, then squeezed her shoulder supportively before mumbling something about elfroot potion and walking toward the elderly woman in charge of supplies.

‘If only the trembling masses knew how blasphemous their Herald truly was,’ came a sing-song drawl in an accent she couldn’t quite place. 

Herah twisted around slowly, her muscles working. A figure in an extravagant travelling coat swaggered towards her, bejewelled hand reaching up to remove his drawn-up hood. Before he could fully complete the action, his expensive leather boots slipped slightly in the mud and he was forced to lean awkwardly on his staff to keep both his pristine coat and his dignity intact.

‘Kaffas!’ 

Herah definitely recognised where that word was from.‘Not the dramatic entrance you were aiming for, Tevinter?’ she smirked, glad to see the flamboyant man taken down a notch.

‘Well, aren’t you just an exemplar of Andrastian grace and saintliness,’ the man grumbled, finally pushing his hood back.

‘Your moustache is ridiculous and you wear too much kohl. There’s a civil war going on, didn’t you know?’ Herah threw back pettily as another wave of pain rolled through her.

‘And here I was, thinking Ferelden was a cesspit of mud and filth, with all its inhabitants engaged in an expansive and _perpetual_ tavern brawl,’ he drawled, crouching down beside her before taking her hand in his and examining it closely. ‘Only this time they’ve managed to make a hole in the sky but, all in all, they _are_ staying true to character. My name is Dorian, by the way,’ he said, eyes flicking up to meet hers before he busied himself with her mark again, tutting something about mannerless southerners.

‘Herah,’ she offered, eyes narrowing. ‘What exactly is a magister doing here, squatting with the dregs of the mage rebellion?’

‘I’m not a - never mind. Something is happening with the other mages in Redcliffe, and I’ve come to...this mark is _extraordinary_!’

At that, atmosphere sobered considerably as Herah was pulled back to face her current predicament. Dorian continued his inspection in a somewhat repentant silence that stretched on for a while.

‘It’s growing, isn’t it?’ he asked gently.

‘Yes.’

‘I can’t help you. Which means nobody here can,’ Dorian stated. He was blunt, but not unkind.

‘In spite of your kohl and your flashy Tevinter clothes?’ Herah didn’t mean to sound quite so bitter.

‘I’m afraid not,’ Dorian replied softly.

‘To be fair, now’s as good a time as any...’ _I don’t want to die_ ‘...what with the whole ‘Thedas falling apart at the seams’ thing.’ Herah was good at feigning irreverence.

‘Here comes your friend. I should...I am sorry.’

‘It’s alright.’ _I don’t want to die_.

Dorian excused himself with a grim nod, and pulled up his hood once more before making his way across the cave, careful not to allow the firelight to illuminate too much of his face.

‘This might help a little.’ Anders passed her a vial of clearly watered-down elfroot potion, which Herah gulped down gratefully. It did nothing to numb the pain in her arm, but her joints slowly began to ache less.

‘Can I use your lap as a pillow, Anders?’ she finally asked.

Anders peered at her strangely, his own strangled cheerfulness a mirror of her weak attempt at drollery. ‘We have tried this. You snore, you drool, you are heavy - and I am an apostate with no muscles to speak of. Ask one of the others if they can spare a warrior friend.’

‘But I want to lie on _your_ lap!’ _I don’t want to die._

‘Granted, many men and women have wanted...nay, _needed_ \- there is no need to look quite so sceptical!’

‘I don’t know about where you’re from, but in Starkhaven, raised eyebrows are an expression of jealousy.’ _I don’t want to die._

‘Come here.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t skewer me.’

‘I won’t.’ _Please._

‘Watch out for my-OW!’

‘Sorry, sorry.’ _If you can hear me, please help._

 

What felt like only moments later, Anders was shaking her roughly awake. The previous murmur of hushed voices in the cave had risen to a clamour of panic, fear and anger. She sat up much too quickly and one of her horns connected painfully with Anders’ chin.

‘This is why I never let you -’ he hissed, rubbing the reddening spot viciously.

‘What’s-’

‘The Inquisition. One of the travellers to Redcliffe rushed back to warn us. They have us surrounded,’ Anders told her in clipped tones.

_Well, fuck you and your Golden City._

Dorian was stood at the mouth of the cave, maintaining a barrier that contorted everything beyond it. Upon his word, a few more mages stood alongside him, feeding magic into the arcane blockade.

‘Get lyrium,’ Anders instructed, before making his way to the barrier to help. Herah pushed past the group thronging around the supply barrels and reached over everyone to grab three vials of the thrumming blue liquid. She shoved them unceremoniously into her coat pockets before making her way to the barrier, where a small crowd had gathered around Denham, who was shouting something hysterically. Sweat pouring down his face, the bald man lifted a dagger to his arm, causing a few people to cry out in shock.

Herah could see Dorian begin to cast a spell in Denhams direction, his staff twisting. Anders, however, stepped forward, his face like thunder. In one swift motion, drew his staff back before striking the odious man across the back of the head. The ensuing silence was only punctuated by the scrape of metal against stone as his dagger slid across the ground.

‘Does anyone else think blood magic is a good idea?’ he asked, the walls echoing his question back angrily.

Nothing.

‘Good. This isn’t a-’

A cry of fear rang out as the barrier was pelted with a strong magical force from the other side. 

‘This isn’t a battle! Disarm them as quickly as you can and flee! If you can, head for Redcliffe! If not, there is a Keep in -’

Anders’ words blurred as Herah looked around frantically, pushing through the crowd until she ran into the correct blue-eyed brunette. Alanis looked at her, eyes wide with fear.

‘I promise, I won’t tell anyone! I-’

Herah shoved one of the vials of lyrium into the girl’s hand, before crouching down and looking at her seriously. ‘Do not go to Redcliffe,’ she urged, remembering what Dorian had alluded to earlier. ‘Get to the Winterwatch Tower.’

They stared at one another in awkward silence, the deja-vu of the moment weighing heavily on them both.

Alanis carefully pocketed the lyrium, her brows drawn together in confusion. ‘Why are you-’

‘I don’t know. I don’t want all my good emancipating to go to waste,’ Herah growled gruffly.

‘The Maker really did send you, didn’t he?’ Alanis whispered breathlessly.

‘Err...’ 

A series of loud crashes reverberated around the cave as the assault on the barrier continued. Herah briefly squeezed Alanis on the shoulder, then turned to find Anders, who was desperately scanning the crowd for her.

‘Ready?’ His knuckles were white on the staff.

‘Yup.’ Herah unsheathed her sword, the sparks from her hand vibrating all the way up her weapon.

‘If they catch me-’

‘They won’t.’

‘ _If_ they catch me, they’ll make me Tranquil.’ Anders said, his voice quiet. ‘If that happens, kill me.’

‘But I heard there’s a -’

‘I didn’t spend my entire life fighting for my own freedom, only to become a prisoner in my own body, unknowingly waiting for a cure that may or may not come! Promise me!’ 

Herah regarded her friend. His dirty-blonde hair was tied back rather messily, and he’d had to tuck a few fly-away hairs behind his ears. His scruffy beard obscured a lot of the toll the last few days had taken on him (though the spot on his chin where her horn had slammed into him earlier would bruise quite nicely, given time). His brown eyes were blazing fiercely. Only when she nodded did his lips begin to quiver slightly. A second later, they were in each other’s arms, Anders’ unruly hair tickling the bottom of Herah’s chin.

‘It’s coming down...’ Dorian warned, more to bring them back to task than anything.

They separated, fingers lingering as they did so, and took on fighting stances.

‘Apostate Anders, it has been a pleasure,’ Herah quipped.

‘And you, Herald Herah, have been a delight.’

The ground trembled as a great crashing sound resounded across the cave, and the barrier warped, then gave way. Immediately, Herah, Anders and Dorian were surrounded in blurs of white as dozens of mages fade-stepped out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so much fun to write, but can't really put my finger on why. I was slightly annoyed with myself for putting so many snarky characters in one place (yes, 3 = SO MANY) because I worry that their personalities begin to bleed into each other. Oh well.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this, and as always, thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight rages on, and a few things go terribly, terribly wrong for all involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****Possible Content Warnings/Trigger Warnings**** 
> 
> Addiction mention, implied self harm & slight body horror. 
> 
> I will consider posting a small Chapter summary in the End Notes if anybody needs this.

Cullen stood on an incline, looking down at the mages pouring from the mouth of the cave. He raised his sword as a signal. All at once, the mages closest to escape suddenly dropped to their knees as the Templars negated all access to the fade in a wide circumference around Witchwood. The few who attempted to run any further were immediately apprehended by his soldiers, who took care not to leave the safe zones the templars had created. 

‘What’s a _Vint_ doing here?’ Iron Bull muttered beside him, instantly on edge.

‘Do _not_ let him escape!’ Cassandra urged from behind him, eyes sweeping over the fight unfolding below them. ‘And keep the perimeter secure! Do not allow the Qunari or Anders flee!’

The Tevinter mage was easy to spot. His buckled coat and glimmering jewellery lit up audaciously in the chaos. He seemed to speak a few words in farewell, then swirled his staff elegantly beside him, eyes narrowed as a bright flash of flame engulfed him and he disappeared. Beside Cullen, Cassandra snarled and pushed past Bull, her arm outstretched. Her gesturing caused the Tevinter to reappear in a violent puff of sparks and smoke. The man whirled around, his moustache framing his lopsided grin rakishly. He took a deep breath before banging his staff on the ground just once. A brilliant flash of lightning shot up from the ground, forcing Cassandra to cry out and throw up her arms to shield her eyes. Before she could recover, thick black tendrils of smoke snaked unctuously at the man’s feet, steadily growing into a seething mass of darkness that overtook most of the battlefield. When the flash of fire came this time, Cullen was ready, cutting off the mage’s access to the fade as Cassandra had. This time, the shower of sparks was accompanied by a litany of what Cullen could only assume were Tevene profanities.

The Iron Bull smirked, his eyebrows cocked. ‘Now _that_ is foul. Even for me.’

Cullen didn’t reply. Though the smoke was clearing at a steady place, visibility was still too low to accommodate a lapse in concentration. Beside him, Cassandra had recovered and was following his gaze, eyes narrowed. A few moments later, a myriad of flashes erupted all across Winterwatch simultaneously. Cullen heard the Seeker curse. Another flare-up and the Tevinter mage was on the _wrong_ side of the safe zone. A few of the templars stepped forward, temporarily breaking formation and allowing a handful of mages to fade-step to freedom. Cullen bellowed out an irate reminder and the templars sheepishly returned to their positions. The Tevinter mage, who clearly found the display of ineptitude on the templar’s part rather amusing, smiled triumphantly at Cassandra, then flitted away, leaving behind an icy haze. The Seeker made a disgusted sound before gathering herself quickly, dispelling what was left of the black smoke with ease. Vivienne and Solas were easily distinguishable in the fray - Solas was attempting to convince the injured mages to surrender (with negligible success) and Vivienne was a flurry of footwork and swordsmanship, the rapier in her hand shimmering unnaturally.

Cullen had not been able to find Anders or his accomplice in the confusion, but with the smoke gone, the bursts of magic illuminating the night gave her away immediately. She made short work of an incoming Inquisition soldier, overpowering him completely before knocking the man to the ground with a kick to the chest. She wheeled around to face the young girl who had been cowering from the violence behind her. She gave the dark-haired girl a reassuring squeeze on the arm before turning to protect her from another overly ambitious soldier. Not too far away, a few children clung to the outer wall of the cave, eyes wide with fear and confusion as Inquisition soldiers attempted to lead them gently out of harm’s way. An elderly mage was curled up in the centre of the battlefield, her shield wavering as the ferocity raged on around her. A thin, disoriented man stumbled into the thick of it all, haphazardly bumping against fighters, weakly clutching a knife to his chest. Teenagers struck down by overzealous templars. Fresh corpses littering marble steps. Statues groaning as they shambled from their perches. Cullen felt something fracture inside him, his stomach turning at the images his mind conjured up to accompany the despair his eyes were taking in. He thought of Kirkwall, of Meredith...of those last few days before…

‘We are doing what we must. We are doing this as safely as we can...for everyone.’ Cassandra’s voice was strong and clear. Cullen wondered what it must be like, to be so unwavering, so _certain_ in one’s convictions.

The fugitive bounced on the soles of her feet before simply body-checking the next soldier foolish enough to confront her.

‘Bull. Go.’ Cullen’s voice sounded flat to his own ears. The Iron Bull slid wordlessly down the incline. Mages and warriors alike gave him a wide berth as he thundered towards the rebel.

Cullen broke into a cold sweat, his mouth suddenly awash with saliva. Thinking of Meredith had, predictably, encouraged the thoughts he stored in the deepest part of himself to invite themselves into his mind. The ex-templar spat defiantly. He did not need lyrium.

 

 

***

 

The two qunari circled each other, Iron Bull holding his battleaxe in a loose and casual grip, a small smile tugging at his lips. Herah, in contrast, was clenching the handle of her sword tightly, her muscles tense as pain ricocheted up her arm. Her chest rose and fell heavily and thick beads of sweat trickled down the contours of her face.

‘You don’t look so good,’ Iron Bull taunted. ‘You should probably surrender, Vashoth.’

‘I managed just fine last time,’ Herah said, cringing at the rasp in her voice.

Iron Bull just smirked before lunging at her, swings deliberate and powerful. Herah danced easily out of the way, gritting her teeth as a horrible squealing sound rent the air somewhere behind them before coming to a stop with a terrific crack. She looked back just in time to see one of the bigger frozen columns fracture before coming apart, big blocks of ice hitting the earth heavily. A heavy grunt brought her back to the fight at hand as The Iron Bull attacked her again. Herah shuffled back quickly before hastily flinging a fireball from her hand. The qunari dodged it easily before forcing her to evade his battleaxe yet again. Herah’s heart sank as she realised there was a method to his lethargic display. He was herding her toward the edge of battle...where Inquisition soldiers stood waiting. She raised her weapon...and staggered over a block of ice, losing her footing and crashing onto her back painfully. A dark figure loomed over her and she quickly pointed her sword upward, prepared to defend herself.

‘It’s me, it’s me!’ Anders shouted over the fighters around them before bending down to help her to her feet.

‘Where’s-’ Herah began, jostled slightly by a thin figure making its way past them.

Anders pointed. The qunari behemoth was getting slowly to his feet, brushing flecks of ice from his bruised side.

‘Nice.’

‘I thought so.’ Herah noted the tinge of pride in her Anders’ voice. He opened his mouth to continue, but an imperious voice rang out, commanding his attention.

‘Defend yourself, abomination!’ The mage who issued the challenge was dressed more elegantly than anyone Herah had ever seen. The smooth, white staff in her hand lit up every time stray magic whizzed overhead. The rapier in her other hand was trained directly at Anders, who barely had time to throw up a barrier before she slashed at him expertly, never once losing her dominant stance. Anders sent a spear of ice flying her way, which she effortlessly dissevered with her weapon.

‘Tell me, dear,’ she began, her attacks unwavering, ‘was it _worth_ it?’

Fed up, Herah took a few steps forward, but Anders’ warning glance stopped her in her tracks.

‘Freedom is _always_ worth it,’ he replied, parrying with his staff.

She sliced quickly through the air, testing Anders’ defence for weaknesses before carrying on. ‘This is no freedom.’

‘You would have us at the mercy of the templars instead?’ Anders spat, throwing a few bursts of lightning magic her way.

Herah saw the woman’s lips curved into a mysterious little smile before their eyes met. Herah’s stomach lurched uneasily, her skin prickling in foreboding.

‘Isn’t this just _delightfully_ ironic-’

The mage stopped suddenly. A strange hush befell the battlefield as a strange current ran through the air, putting everyone on edge. Herah turned around to see a thin silhouette floating from the ground, arms glistening in the darkness. A dagger fell silently to the ground as the figure that could only be Denham hovered sinisterly, arms outstretched, welcoming.

‘The fool...’ Anders whispered in horror.

Herah swallowed drily as the veil rippled all around them. Denham let forth a blood-curdling scream as he transformed, limbs stretching and contorting. The entity he had called into his soul reshaped him entirely, moulding bones, skin and flesh into a distortion that no longer bore any resemblance to the human who housed it. Denham was gone.

‘And that...is why we chain up our mages,’ The Iron Bull said hoarsely. ‘What the FUCK is that thing?’

‘Fear demon.’ Anders replied tersely, as the creature above them clawed open a fade rift.

 

***

 

Cassandra had clambered down the incline as soon as she saw the mage begin to float, but had not made it in time. She had positioned herself close to the fade rift, busying herself with ensuring fewer demons clambered through the tear in the veil.

‘Hold the safe zones! Forget the mages! Focus on the demons!’ The Inquisition forces scrambled to follow their Commanders orders.

Cullen equipped his shield in a quick, practised move before throwing himself into the fray below, sword at the ready. He took down a few oncoming wisps easily enough, his templar training still as sharp as ever. The fear demon shrieked in distress before swooping down towards him, forcing him to throw up his shield and brace himself. The impact never came.

A few alarmed cries rang out as a cage of serrated pincers began to close in around him from behind. Before Cullen could react, an intense, searing heat blazed up, the searing flames warming his armour. With an aggrieved shriek, the pincers were gone and the fear demon teleported itself across the battlefield.

‘Maker’s mercy, that thing is fast!’ came a mutter from nearby, a slight Starkhaven intonation clinging gently to every syllable. The qunari woman approached him, dislike and reluctance playing out across her face. ‘Can you-’

A rage demon barrelled towards them, lashing out with wide, fiery sweeps of its arms. Cullen expelled a blast of force, interrupting the demon’s next attack and giving the qunari the chance to plunge her arm into its fiery chest. Ice spread quickly from the intrusion and froze the demon solid. The woman then withdrew her arm with a shaky roar, shattering the frozen monster before rounding back on Cullen.

‘Can you keep the fear demon off me? Every time I try to close the rift, it-’

Cullen lifted his sword aggressively, and she half-heartedly raised her own in response.

‘I am the only one who can close that rift,’ she implored, annoyance flaring behind her burgundy eyes.

Both warriors sized each other up, mistrustful. An ear-splitting scream echoed into the sky, and they both lowered their weapons.

‘Truce?’

‘Truce.’

 

‘Herah, what are you-’ Anders ran toward them, narrowly avoid the attentions of a nearby shade. Cullen raised his sword once more, but Herah knocked it aside impatiently.

‘He’s a templar. I need him to keep that...thing...off me while I try to close the rift,’ she explained.

Anders nodded reluctantly, before turning to face Cullen. ‘Harm her, and I will rain-’

Cullen chose to ignore whatever warning the mage was attempting to conjure up. ‘We need to get to Cassandra!’ he shouted, gesturing toward the dark-haired woman plunging her sword into a flailing shade. 

The three of them hurried through the chaos toward her, brushing past mages, soldiers and demons as they went. Cassandra met Cullen’s gaze apprehensively as they neared.

He waved away her questions. ‘We must keep the fear demon away!’

Cassandra took on a fighting stance and scoured the battlefield for the demon. Cullen turned toward Herah, who was holding her arm and breathing through clenched teeth. She pushed Anders away gently before raising her arm toward the rift. The veil around them started to warp slightly, the energy exchange between the qunari and the rift ripping a growl of pain from her throat. Further away, Cullen saw Vivienne and Iron Bull start as the fear demon howled in anger. Cullen gestured toward Vivienne, relieved when she nodded in understanding and said something to Iron Bull, who had busied himself with tyrannising a rage demon, his battleaxe red hot. They switched positions in a flash, her iridescent sword slicing through the incandescent creature as red bull swung his chain above his head, wrapping it around the fear demon as it made for the rift, his muscles bulging as he pulled.

In his peripheral vision, Cullen saw Herah sink gently to her knees, her face twisted in silent agony despite Anders best attempts to heal her. Solas had rushed to her side too, muttering nervous incantations beneath his breath, eyes on the rift in case anything attempted to breach it. Cullen raised his shield as the demon yanked itself free of the Iron Bull and hurtled toward them, only to come into contact with the annulment Cassandra was casting. Cullen had seen the Seeker dissolve lesser demons with this skill. This fiend was no lesser demon, however. It sent a stream of ice at the warrior, who was forced to abandon the annulment and protect herself behind her shield. The fear demon snarled and swept Cassandra violently to the side, before attempting to lunge at Herah. Cullen threw himself between them, muscles taut as the demon slashed at his shield repeatedly. Cullen sent a quick prayer to the Maker, hoping against hope he could hold the monster at bay long enough to ensure its demise. It drew its arm and its pincers back for one final thrust before it was bashed unceremoniously in the side, green light spilling from the gash. Cullen breathed a sigh of relief as the green glow illuminated The Iron Bull, whose features were lit up with approval at his handiwork.

Cullen’s congratulations faded on his tongue, however, turning into a shout of warning that came too late as the fear demon felled the large qunari with one swoop of its serrated claws. A bright blue light flared up from below the rift as the fear demon turned back around, claws and pincers twitching angrily. A tremendous amount of magical energy suddenly slammed into the demon as the veil stopped wavering. For one glorious, terrible moment, Cullen believed it was all over despite the green glow of the rift telling him otherwise. The ex-templar turned around slowly to find Anders engulfed in blue light, a tear-streaked Herah struggling to restrain him as Solas desperately tried to bring her back to task.

No. 

No.

No.

Anders writhed free of Herah’s grasp, making his way toward the fear demon, which was now terrorising the escaping mages. Cullen grabbed her wrist as she attempted to follow him.

‘Don’t,’ he pleaded.

Herah looked down at him, fatigued resignation written all over her face. ‘I’m dead anyway,’ she said, her voice breaking as she gestured toward the mark pulsing on her skin.

Shaking off his grip, Herah reached into her coat, pulling forth a blue liquid. A shout of protest rang out clearly from behind them. Cullen felt his throat go dry as she ignored Solas, downing the contents and throwing the bottle to the ground at her feet. A few dregs of lyrium swished against the glass, singing out to him enticingly. Cullen crouched and reached out, his gloved hands closing firmly around the smooth vial... 

An impossibly blinding green light pierced his eyes, and Cullen dropped the bottle. Herah was painful to look at. Her walking was laboured as she tried her best to contain the swell of energy within herself. When she reached the Iron Bull, she bent down to pick up his battle-axe before fade-stepping towards the fear demon. Herah was a brilliant blur of green and white as she raced forward, pushed Anders aside, and lunged off the ground toward the monster, burying the axe deep within its torso. The fear demon wrapped its pincers around her in a gruesome embrace as her momentum and the weight of Bull’s weapon sent them both crashing to the ground. Cullen heard Herah let forth a gut-wrenching scream before a great rush of energy blasted from her, and everything was light.

 

***

 

Herah moaned in pain as the piercing in her arm intensified. Panic rose within her when she realised the only thing she could feel under her palms was mud. She blinked a few times then forced herself to her feet, searching wildly for the fear demon as she strained to pick up the too-heavy battle-axe beside her. Her heart slowed. It was gone...and so was the rift. Then what about…

‘Justice? Anders?’ Her calls were nothing more than fatigued whispers.

‘Herah?’ an even voice answered.

Herah’s eyesight adjusted. Anders brown eyes met hers blankly, Cassandra’s sword at his throat.

Herah dropped the battle-axe back into the mud, earning herself the ire of Iron Bull as he advanced towards her and wrapped his huge hand around her upper arm.

Cullen walked towards her, his dark brown eyes severe in the dawning light. ‘In the name of the Inquisition, we place you both under arrest.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I defeated 4 assignments and one group project before getting this Chapter up. I feel rather all-powerful and glow-y myself right now.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading, and don't forget to leave feedback :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Witchwood weighs heavily on all its survivers. The Inquisition can finally face the Breach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, I wanna say thank you to everyone who has commented and 'kudosed', I really appreciate your feedback and interest in this story, I didn't think nearly this many people would like it! Many, many thanks to all!
> 
> Well, I decided to post a fairly long chapter since it's been a bit longer since my last update. I have exams coming up, and while I do have a few chapters prepared, I may fall behind with updates. I'll try not to though.
> 
> As for the fic, things are gonna get angsty. I hinted at this outcome in the last chapter, but agonised over whether or not to make it actually happen. I apologise in advance, please don't hate me. (；☉_☉)
> 
> I am going somewhere with this story arc, and I promise it will be good.  
> This was very hard to write.

‘What...’ Herah whispered wordlessly, her stomach sinking and her throat seizing up. It was only when the wet tears clinging to her jawline fell to her throat that she realised she had been crying.

Anders simply stood there, the Seeker’s sword at his throat, his affect flat. She searched her friend’s eyes, for anger, defiance, _fear_ , but there was nothing. They were just eyes, brown and empty. 

Herah couldn’t breathe. She saw realisation dawn on Cullen’s face. ‘Sol-’

‘ _What did you do?_ ’ Herah asked through clenched teeth, taking a shaky step forward. The Inquisition soldiers raised their weapons warily, and Herah could hear Iron Bull growl a warning from beside her.

‘WHAT DID YOU DO?!!!’ Her voice was loud and desperately shrill.

Herah saw an unreadable expression flit across Cullen’s face, disarming her for a moment. There was an depth behind his eyes that she wanted to reach out to, a gravity that was pulling a plea for help from her gut. It was over in a second. His eyes were hard, and his brows were furrowed into a slight frown as he gripped his sword a little tighter. He was cold and unyielding once more, and Herah couldn’t stand it. He was everything they had been running from in the first place. Children and the elderly, captured because of their fear, their prejudice. Their need to control everything. Their complete inability to keep their own Divine safe redirected at all the captured mages, at her, at Anders. The Inquisition had brought nothing but suffering down on them all, and now, they had...

Herah’s restraint, stretched and strained already, snapped. Herah lunged at Cullen, her face twisted into a snarl.

‘ **WHAT DID YOU DO?! WHAT DID YOU DO?! WHAT DID YOU D-** ’

The Iron Bull yanked her back painfully from behind, circling his arms around her and trapping hers at her sides. Herah struggled against his grip violently, connecting her elbows his chest more than a few times before he could tighten his grip. She squirmed a bit longer, until the pain, the exhaustion and the grief became too much to bear. Herah gave up, allowing her body to go limp. Slumping back against The Iron Bull’s chest and held up in his muscular arms, she began to cry, her shoulders heaving and rolling with sobs.

Cullen averted his gaze.

 

***

 

 

‘What...happened?’ Varric asked, his trembling voice finally grating through the thick silence in the tent.

Cassandra took a deep breath then exhaled slowly, the air whistling slightly between her lips. ‘We don’t...we don’t actually _know_. There was a bright light and...the demon and the rift were no more. The mage...’ her voice trailed as she gestured toward Anders, who stood in a corner of the tent, observing the conversation, his hands bound.

Varric swallowed audibly, then spoke up, his tone angry. ‘Is there any need for him to be-’

‘We don’t-’ Cassandra interjected.

Cullen stepped forward and wearily unchained the man. Anders thanked him flatly, his brown eyes inexpressive. ‘There’s no point, Seeker. He’s...’ Cullen waved an arm, trying to nonverbally articulate the word his jaw wouldn’t unclench to say. He could still see Meredith’s mouth curling over the syllables, a faint sneer twitching its way across her face.

‘You’re saying _she_ did this?’ Varric asked, incredulously.

‘I’m not sure _what_ happened, exactly,’ Cullen replied, his words clipped.

When the blinding light had finally faded away, all the demons had disappeared and the rift had been sealed again. Cassandra had seized the opportunity to apprehend Anders immediately, fearful that he would escape. Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. The moment Herah had realised what had become of her friend would be etched into his memory for all eternity, another thread in a tapestry of grief. He had seen that look so many times before, in Kirkwall. Fingers trembling. Eyes widening as realisation hit. Mouth slightly open, breathing slowed...as if disturbing the air would make it real.

‘-should get going, Cullen,’ Cassandra was saying. She gave him a quick pat on the shoulder then turned, leaving the tent.

‘Fucking Blondie. He would hate this, we should-’

‘Not now. We need to leave for Haven.’

Cullen didn’t wait for Varric’s reply, choosing to leave the devastated dwarf and the tranquil mage behind and embrace the fresh morning air instead. The frenzied twittering of the birds in the branches above the Inquisition camp was interlaced with the sharp tones of Vivienne’s assertive voice. Bracing himself, Cullen made his way toward the clearing where she stood, fussing over The Iron Bull in a tone so polite and so dismissive that Cullen knew she was quite fond of him. The Ben-Hassrath agent stood with his arms at his sides, his head cocked deferentially to one side. Cullen could make out the early signs of what would later be some very impressive bruises on the qunari’s chest. 

Sensing his approach, The Iron Bull cleared his throat and straightened up, wincing slightly as he crossed his arms. Following his gaze, Vivienne turned to face the commander.

 

‘I take it-’ Vivienne began, her hands folded almost dutifully in front of her. An inscrutable expression crossed her face before she relaxed into her usually haughty posture. ‘ I take it we will be leaving for Haven soon, Commander?’

 

Cullen gave her a slight bow before answering. ‘Yes. Soon.’

‘Good,’ Vivienne replied simply, before turning on her heel and heading toward the main camp.

Both warriors watched her leave in silence, saying nothing about the stiffness in her gait or her uncharacteristic slip-up earlier.

‘Are you ready?’ The Iron Bull asked finally.

Cullen frowned, then turned to face him. ‘Ready?’

‘The Temple. The Breach. It’s a fucking mess up there, Cullen.’ They began to walk toward the main camp, where Scout Harding was signalling their imminent departure.

‘It’s a mess down here, too,’ Cullen replied, pointedly looking at Bull’s bruises.

Bull sighed, then uncrossed his arms, revealing huge swathes of purpling skin. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head and recrossed his arms instead.

When they reached the camp, Herah was already sitting on her mount - much to the amusement of four soldiers guarding her, who were suggesting that it was, in fact, the ‘ox-woman’ who should be carrying the horse. Herah simply ignored them, her eyes closed and her hand on her chest as if she was somehow trying to hold a well of pain at bay.

Cullen’s voice was dangerously calm. ‘Put down your swords.’

The soldiers turned to face him, eyes wide. ‘Commander, we-’

‘Put down your swords.’ Cullen did not appreciate having to repeat himself.

The soldiers obeyed. Cullen surveyed them all, his facial features twisted into a look that conveyed both sheer disappointment and utter contempt.

‘You are no longer soldiers in the Inquisition. I hereby relieve you of your duties.’ 

A stunned silence followed. Cullen beckoned to a nearby scout to collect the weapons.

‘Commander?’

‘Please inform Harding we will be needing four replacements. Hurry.’

The Iron Bull chuckled softly as the rejected servicemen shuffled their way past him.  
Cullen looked up at Herah, whose eyes were still closed. ‘I apologise. That was…’

She opened her eyes slowly and looked fixedly at him, her hand still on her chest. Unbidden, his mind conjured up the words _do you feel gratified now that you’ve ‘rescued’ me?_ His actions felt woefully inadequate. The current power dynamics between them probably rendered any chivalry on his part naive and pointless - the captor saving the captive from the oppressions of his own people as she mourned the loss of her friend? Pah. Even Cassandra had her doubts as to the role she and Anders had played in the explosion at the Conclave. To top it all off, she had saved all of their lives and they had... Cullen’s own hand flew to the back of his neck. ‘Well-I...er...’

Solas had arrived behind him, and had goaded The Iron Bull into yet another passive-aggressive argument, drawing Herah’s accusing gaze away. Cullen steeled himself. It didn’t matter. The Inquisition had no role in Anders’ condition. He had stayed true to his convictions, and he could not waver now that they were so close. Men and women were dying every day, and any headway they could make in closing the Breach was warranted and worthwhile. And while he did not know her role in this, Anders had killed so many innocents that he would not… _could_ not dishonour their memories by grieving over a madman. As Commander of the Inquisition, he had a duty to fulfil...but he would not be unkind.

‘Do you want to see him? Before we go?’

Herah’s eyes were back on him, wide with surprise. Her expression softened, then fell. ‘No, I...no.’

Cullen nodded curtly before turning around to brief her new guards.

 

***

 

‘I’m sorry about your friend. You were close, were you not?’

The Breach yawned across the sky over them, glimmering ominously. They had been travelling for a handful of days now. The green grass and temperate weather of the Hinterlands had given way to hard ground and constant snowfall as they neared the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Herah had not spoken a word since Witchwood. In the beginning, Cassandra had tried to ask her about what had happened at the Temple. Now, she simply hung back, heatedly discussing Inquisition politics with Cullen, who only spoke to Herah to inform her of the day’s schedule. The Iron Bull preferred to avoid her altogether. Herah suspected he was wary of her in a way that the others were not. She didn’t care enough to dwell on it much further than that. Varric had taken to telling her stories about Anders. Herah was sure it was more for his own benefit than for hers - and she wasn’t sure she liked the Anders that prowled in underground passages, consumed from the inside by the friend he had tried to save. Vivienne was too busy offering Cassandra and Cullen the contact details of potential allies to bother with the lowly captive. Solas, on the other hand, made time for her everyday, though this was the first time he had brought up Anders.

Herah nodded, her hand automatically settling on her chest in a vain attempt to soothe the sharp pain that perpetually shattered and re-shattered behind the muscle and bone. The unspeakable grief travelled through her body in the little shards and slivers, settling in her stiffening fingers and weighing down her already heavy legs. Worst of all, however, was the intense longing in her gut that was quickly pierced through by the memory of his vacant brown eyes, looking but no longer seeing.

‘It was not your fault. The mark is...unknown. Powerful. You could not have suspected the risk. You barely had control over it.’

Herah nodded again, an automatic, empty gesture.

‘It is very likely he isn’t even truly Tranquil,’ Solas said thoughtfully, before grimacing. ‘Not in the way the Chantry goes about it, anyway.’

Herah jolted in the saddle and twisted around to face the slender elf.

‘He isn’t?’ she rasped, her voice hoarse.

If Solas was surprised to hear her speak, he hid it well. ‘I’m afraid I may have planted a seed of hope in infertile ground.’

Oh.

Solas took a deep breath before continuing. ‘What has become of your friend, I’m afraid I simply cannot say with any measure of certainty. I am sorry.’

Herah’s heart plummeted.

‘There’s Haven!’ Cullen shouted from behind them. 

The breach pulsed once, sending a shockwave of energy hurtling through the sky. Herah looked on in horror as the mark pulsed in tandem, the pain that Solas had managed to hold at bay now roiling through her arm once more. Her vision began to blur and the world began to spin off-kilter.

 

***

 

It was Solas who caught her. Well, half of her. The elf had dismounted as soon as she had started to slump to the side. The full force of her fall had caused his arms to tremble, and he had sunk slightly into the cold ground, but he had managed to keep her head from hitting the ground. Cassandra was on her feet in a flash, and rushed to his side to relieve him of Herah’s weight. 

‘Solas? What do you make of this?’

‘We need to reach the Breach as quickly as possible.’

‘Chuckles, she’s hardly in any state t-’

‘The mark is spreading, and quickly. If it kills her, we lose our only hope at sealing the Breach and closing the rifts.’

‘Then we keep going,’ Cullen said, hoping his calm manner of speaking would chase away the desperation he felt. He had been gone for too long, and he dreaded confronting what had become of the men and women under his care.

The Iron Bull lifted Herah into his arms with a grunt. ‘Why can’t anything ever be fucking easy?’ he snarled in frustration.

The walk to the Temple was heart-wrenching. The gates of Haven had been shut, the training grounds desolate and the soldiers’ tents re-appropriated elsewhere. Closer to the breach, injured soldiers littered the streets, tended to by a few brave villagers. Nobody seemed to notice their arrival in the swirling havoc, and the few who did barely had time to acknowledge the arrival of the Seeker or the Commander.

Cullen heard himself speak through gritted teeth, his voice foreign and gravelly to his own ears. ‘We end this. Now.’

Both Bull and Cassandra grunted in agreement. Varric muttered a few lacklustre profanities under his breath and readied Bianca. Vivienne said nothing, her jaw set. Solas simply kept his eyes upward, the green glow of the Breach giving his face a sickly pallor.

‘Will she be able to close the rifts?’ Cullen asked, shrugging of the attentions of a raving Chantry sister.

‘Yes,’ Solas replied. ‘I will wake her. The mark is...killing her. I thought it best to allow her respite from the excruciating pain she would be feeling now. I strongly suspect that the formidable task of closing the Breach may prove too much.’ Solas grasped his staff determinedly, as if to chase away the sadness his voice revealed.

‘It may...kill her?’ Cassandra asked. Cullen was surprised to hear the twinge of regret in her voice.

‘Hopefully, closing the Breach will put a stop to...’ Solas’ voice trailed when he saw Leliana approach them, her eyes shining. An irate and panicked Chancellor Roderick sashayed quickly after her, his jowls quivering.

‘You found them!’ 

‘Yes. We have a way of closing the Breach.’ Cassandra said, putting her hand on her friend’s shoulder, an unspoken greeting passing between the two.

‘Where is the apostate!?’ Roderick demanded.

‘Long story,’ Bull offered, repositioning Herah in his arms with a grunt.

‘Why have you brought the qunari ‘Herald’ here, when-’ Roderick began, his face turning slowly red. The Iron Bull bristled, before realising the man was referring to Herah.

‘Chancellor, it was necessary to-’

‘untold dangers of bringing her here! You are nothing but a glorified thug, an unthinking, irrational, _dangerous_ figurehead at the helm of a rogue organisation created to challenge the Chantry!’ Leliana made to interrupt the man, but he spoke over her. ‘And YOU, ‘Nightingale’, I would have thought that you had more -’

Incensed, Cullen took a step forward, but Cassandra beat him to it, towering over the ranting chantry clerk. ‘I may be a _thug_ but I am _not_ unthinking. You may challenge my methods but I have done nothing but work on the Divine’s orders to further what is best for the Chantry. There is a HOLE in the SKY, Chancellor,’ Cassandra shouted, jabbing the man in the chest, ‘and I intend to close it.’

Roderick bristled, neck swivelling as he searched for the nearest soldiers. ‘Arrest them! Arrest the Herald! Your allegiance lies with the Chantry!’

‘STAND DOWN!’ Cullen roared, trembling with fury. The few soldiers who had been foolish enough to heed Roderick’s words immediately took a step back. ‘You joined as part of the Inquisition, because you believed in our cause. We still stand for that cause, and we will fulfil it! Right now, we have a duty to protect the people of Haven. We are going to close the Breach,’ Cullen continued, before lowering his voice a few octaves. He was tired of Chantry bureaucracy, he was tired of speeches. He was tired of waiting and searching and inaction. He was tired of standing between a rock and a hard place, and carrying the broken qunari - _the woman they had broken_ \- to her death...Cullen took an unsteady breath. They had countless lives to save. ‘Do what you will. Maker-willing, it is the right thing.’

The motley crew made its way past the incensed Chancellor and toward the Temple of Sacred Ashes, gaining soldiers and fighters along the way, an aura of grim determination as thickly over them as the unspoken possibility of failure.

 

***

 

The pain was so all-consuming that Herah did not even have the wherewithal to scream. She had spent the last few minutes drifting in and out of consciousness, and her sudden, agonising return to reality was overwhelming and nauseating.

In addition to this, The Iron Bull’s stupid face was entirely too close to her own.

‘-or not?’

‘Put me down,’ Herah croaked.

‘The rift!’ a panicked voice beside her shouted.

The world tilted in a swirl of colour as Bull set her back on her feet. It took a few seconds for her to take in the scene around her. Vivienne and her unearthly sword had struck up an unlikely but seamless partnership with Varric, who was dispatching demons from a distance and allowing the mage to put away those that ventured too close.

A rift glowered a few feet ahead of them, leaking forth demons. Herah raised her hand with some difficulty, the now-familiar pushing feeling accompanied by a spasm of searing pain so strong she flinched before she restarted the task of closing the rift. A small cheer rang up as soon as she managed to seal it. She took a few shuddering steps forward before someone lent her a shoulder for support. Cassandra.

‘We’ve got a few more to go,’ The Iron Bull said grimly, before gathering her in his arms again.

Normally, Herah would have complained, but at this point she was grateful for the respite it offered her.

The way to the Temple felt repetitive. Between closing rifts, Herah could make out all the stops she had made with the Valos-Kas before the Conclave, and she could no longer differentiate between the emotional torment and the physical suffering running though her. She could clearly recall Maraas complaining about humans as they were forced to leave their weapons behind. Three complaining about her, every step of the journey. Anaan, his face bright, simply happy that they were travelling together. She remembered speculating about what the Temple of Sacred Ashes looked like. Muttering not-so-discrete curses at any of the particularly rude humans they encountered on their way to the top.

When she tilted her head in The Iron Bull’s arms, she almost expected to see the Temple towering over her. Three had made a disparaging remark about tiny humans overcompensating. 

There was no temple. There was only a husk, a skeleton with ashen corpses littered between the red ribs poking profanely out of the ground, demons crawling through the remains like vermin feasting on a carcass.

Anders had found her here. And they had brought her back, to die as she should have.

‘I am...sorry.’ Cassandra said, as Bull placed her back on her feet.

Herah ignored her. She refused to assuage her guilt. ‘What should I do?’ she asked Solas.

‘Open that rift...then reseal it,’ he answered, his eyes still glued to the injured heavens.

‘That means more demons,’ Cassandra said.

‘I’ll take her.’ Cullen. Bull transferred her weight onto him, and she swayed awkwardly at the angle. ‘I can keep them off you much easier than he can.’ Cullen said. Her annoyance and confusion had obviously spilled onto her face.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

‘Don’t...I-don’t.’ His voice sounded strangled.

As she hobbled near, a serious of voices began to echo from the rift below the breach. Herah recognised her own startled, out-of-breath voice, demanding to know what was happening.

‘It has been doing this since you left...She didn’t do it. Neither did Anders.’

Nobody addressed this. Herah reasoned that it didn’t matter now. She was ready to die. Nothing mattered now.

 

***

 

‘Now! Do it now!’ Solas shouted above the din.

‘Herah?’ Cullen asked, looking up to face her. She heaved the majority of her weight off him. Leaning lightly on his shoulder, she turning laboriously to face him. ‘I’m...’

‘I’m dead anyway,’ she said interrupted with a dark smirk, echoing what she had said a week ago in Witchwood. In this valley of death, coupled with the singing of the red lyrium and surrounded by swirls of light, her braids falling over her face and her eyes dark, she looked every bit the mythical warrior he had seen at Winterwatch.

Cullen felt as if his body was not his own. He reached up, cradling the back of her neck to pull her toward him until their foreheads touched. He tried to speak, but his lips would not co-operate. It was probably for the best. Anything he said would be woefully inadequate.

‘NOW!’ Solas shouted.

Herah pushed Cullen away, swaying slightly before she threw her arm up. She gave an otherworldly scream as she was instantly consumed by fire. A dome of electricity formed around her, throwing out sizzling arcs of lightning as the air around them began to vibrate. The rift crumpled in on itself with a horrible metallic sound. Up in the sky, the Breach shuddered before imploding, sending rings of energy coursing outwards.

A massive cry of triumph rang out into the air, Iron Bull’s ‘FUCK YEAH’ and Cassandra’s ‘Thank the Maker!’ most prominent in the commotion. Herah fell to her knees, the mark still crackling slightly. Cullen stepped toward her, overcome with guilt, sorrow, gratefulness and respect amongst other nameless emotions. He caught her before she fell, rearranging her body onto her back. Solas was with him in a moment, hands pressed to the mark.

Cassandra stood over them. ‘She was-’

‘Still here,’ Herah replied weakly, her eyes flickering to life before rolling back in her head.

‘I like her.’ Bull said, slinging his battle-axe over his shoulder before bending down and lifting her up in his arms. Cullen didn’t quite know what to do with his hands, so he sidled back, still stunned.

‘Of course you do, Tiny. So, Seeker, what do we do with her? Are you going to go the whole torture before proven innocent route, orrrr?’ Varric asked, casually brushing a few flecks of ash off his beloved crossbow.

‘I hardly tortured you, Varric. If you had been-’

‘Seggrit’s place, Bull. Put her in Seggrit’s place.’ Leliana’s offer came a little too quickly and a tad too enthusiastically.

 

‘There are political advantages and disadvantages to this, Cassandra dear. You need to thoroughly consider all the-’

Cassandra staggered back a little, looking for Leliana, who was now suspiciously absent. She turned to the Commander. ‘Well, we should probably...’

‘I...I must brief the soldiers, Seeker.’ Cullen said, making good his escape. Too many of Vivienne’s political maneuvers involved him wooing some young Orlesian courtier or other.

The walk back to Haven was considerably more somber. The path from the Temple was lit with candles in memory of those who had died keeping the demons at bay. Various sections of the chant rose up, creating a murmured harmony that underscored the giddy jubilation flowing through the population. By the time they arrived at Haven, a huge following had gathered behind them, all whispering the praise of the Herald of Andraste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to make myself sad writing this.
> 
> So. Cullen and Herah in Haven, finally. Tranquil Anders on the way. I'm excited for these new dynamics. I've decided to stay in au-land with some upcoming elements of the story, and I am excited to post them!
> 
> Stay golden, and wish me luck with exams! Unless you hate me now, in which case please wish me luck begrudgingly anyway. I really need it!


	10. Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen continues to struggle through withdrawal and Herah mourns the loss of her friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW/ Content Warnings** : Addiction and Withdrawal symptoms. This Chapter begins with puke, so skip past Cullen's bit (the first part) if this makes you queasy.
> 
> I am back! Sorry for taking so long, exams were over and then Fallout 4 happened to me for a few days after...then before I posted this chapter up I realised some of the things I had planned to write threw the whole storyline off. Half a loaf of bread + several spoonfuls of Nutella later, my creative juices started flowing and I could start typing again.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

Cullen awoke with a start, his throat dry and painful. Had he been screaming? He reached out his hand to where _her_ face had been, her pretty, sharp features twisted in ghoulish bloodlust. As far as the nightmares went, tonight had been tame. His body refused to listen to this reasoning, however, and the shakiness in his exhale let him know that he was shivering. Cullen sat up and reached for the pitcher of water beside his bed, forgoing a tumbler and drinking it down in big gulps instead. Almost immediately, his stomach began to lurch dangerously. Cullen jumped up, swaying on tired legs, and began to search desperately for the clay pot he kept in his room for exactly such moments. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead into his eyes as he dropped to his knees, feeling around blindly.

He finally came into contact with the bowl, dragging it noisily towards himself with a trembling hand. He must have done so too incautiously, because it flipped over the uneven floor and shattered at his knees. The heave that followed shook him off balance, and the searing pain in his right palm meant he must have sliced it open on one of the more jagged clay shards. Cullen coughed slightly, then convulsed once more as his stomach emptied itself of all its contents. Several moments passed, the throbbing in his hand and his own heavy breathing keeping him company. Cullen waited in the same hunched over position in an affectation of patience. He knew what was coming. When the painful dry-retching began, his body seized up, forcing thick tears from his eyes.

When it was finally over, he spat and moved towards the bed, holding his left hand over his face, discovering it was wet with tears and sweat. It was in moments like these when he could not feel the Maker’s presence. Cullen could only be glad that the Inquisition, in its infancy, had no access to lyrium, or he would never have made it this far. If he was completely honest with himself, he had barely made it through the Hinterlands without turning back on his resolve. Cullen slicked back the hair that had flopped into his face. He needed to do better, to be better, if he was going to be the Commander this fledgling venture needed. He had hoped playing the part, keeping up the outer facade would somehow curb the cravings...he had hoped that severing this last tie to the Chantry would absolve him of his past and free him of the memories. 

Cullen allowed his mind to wander, and it treacherously attempted to recreate her face. He wondered if he could still do so, without incorporating the deformed expressions the demon had used to vandalize his memory of her face. He had stopped pining for the impossible a long time ago but her likeness and her presence was so entangled in his imprisonment and torture and subsequent freedom that it was difficult to unravel the two. Cullen wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He hadn’t had the time to ruminate on the events at the tower all those years ago. Funny, then, that with the Breach still circling overhead it was her dark eyes and long lashes he should dream of. Pushing this intrusive thought aside, Cullen forced himself to his (still shaky) feet and began to clean up his mess. An hour and a half later, he was on his way to the Chantry, his gait steady and his hand bandaged, hoping to find the inner peace to match his outward appearance.

 

***

 

‘You look like shit,’ Herah found herself saying, the harsh words a rudimentary attempt at distracting from her watery eyes and her own dishevelled appearance.

She hadn’t seen him since the Temple, and her survival now rendered their (retrospectively melodramatic) tender moment too awkward to bear without him walking in on her crying. Both warriors stared at each other from across the candle-lit enclave, their reddened eyes narrowed. Herah felt her nose tickle. _Damnit_. She folded her arms across her chest protectively, looking away as she sniffed. This seemed to free Cullen from their contest, and he took this opportunity to look away as he ran his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

‘Why are you wandering about this early in the morni-’

‘Probably reciting the Chant, what with this being the chantry and everything,’ Herah said, rolling her tongue over the syllables, drawing attention to her annoyance at being caught looking so vulnerable.

Cullen didn’t seem as taken aback as she had expected. To her horror, his features softened. ‘I meant...you should rest,’ he finished gently, his eyes fixed on the wall beside them.

The dark circles under his eyes and the tell-tale bristle of untended stubble across his face served to make him look gaunt. The flickering candle-light caught the slight sheen of sweat at his temples. If Cullen, for all his pallor, was looking at her with such an expression of pity, Herah was sure she did not want to know what _she_ looked like to _him_. She gathered the scratchy woollen coat around herself before heading back outside.

Haven was still asleep, and the few flecks of snow falling from the sky could whirl through the air unimpeded. The Breach still pulsed above the Temple, temporarily calmed but still a threat. The green glow beyond the clouds swirled slowly, like a monster circling its prey before uncurling sinuously and delivering the inevitable fatal blow. All of the devastation caused in order to get her here...Herah lifted both hands to her burning face, the hot tears now splashing over her fingers. For a few moments, she stood in the snow, shivering, before inhaling shakily through clenched teeth and making her way toward her cottage. It was only when the wooden door slammed shut behind her that Herah wiped the tears off her face with the back of one hand while balling the other into a fist and holding it to her mouth. She allowed the thought that had hounded her into the chantry in the first place to tear through her. 

She should have told him.

Herah crawled onto the unmade bed, her boots soaking the foot of the mattress. Unlacing them felt both overwhelming and unnecessary. It was only when she curled up under the heavy covers of the too-small bed that she allowed herself to cry properly, both arms cradling her belly. Her child-like vocalisations cut into the air until the beckoning arms of sleep finally stilled her.

 

***

 

The air was filled with the dull thudding of wooden swords knocking gently against lightweight shields. The new recruits haphazard footwork had kicked up a lot of loosened earth, and the training area outside Haven was a muddy mess. None of the recruits had yet managed to successfully replicate the simple training exercise that Bouchard, the Swordmaster, had shown them earlier - and they had _somehow_ managed to botch it up even more intricately when he had gone through each step in achingly slow detail. Frustration churned at the pit of Cullen’s gut, threatening to spill free when the nearest trainee allowed his sword to slip from his grip mid-lunge. To make things worse, there clearly had been no strength behind that lunge because the sword dropped impotently into the mud with a gentle splat instead of flying through the air. Cullen sighed. The simmer of laughter coming from behind him now turned into a full boil, and when he turned around to throw Bull and his Chargers a dirty look, Krem was slapping his thighs and stomping his foot into the mud with such wild abandon that Cullen had to clear his throat repeatedly to cover up his own bubbling mirth.

‘Please, grasp your sword firmly!’ Bouchard reprimanded, strutting toward the youth. ‘Here, hold it...here, not quite so near the hilt. Just - here...squeeze it tightly between your fingers, do not - grip it, man! Grip it!’ Bouchard’s moustache was trembling with indignation. The other recruits were trembling with something else entirely, and Cullen could hardly blame them. Dalish had taken to enthusiastically repeating everything Bouchard was saying, accompanied with vulgar hip and arm movements. Krem was on his haunches, red-faced and wheezing breathlessly. Cullen sighed inwardly. This was not befitting of the Inqui-

 

‘Take it in hand and thennn : Thrust! Aaaand - THRUST!’

 

-sition. 

 

The recruits finally gave in.  
Andraste help him, Cullen had to turn around and take quivering breaths through his nostrils to keep from laughing out loud with them. When he finally managed to gather himself, he re-arranged his face in a stern expression and faced his underlings, pointing toward the perimeter of the training grounds where the more seasoned soldiers were working on their conditioning. A few recruits groaned under their breaths as they all began to jog away. Cullen exchanged a quick smirk with Bull before shoving his hands into his pockets, the fingers of his left hand grazing against a cold, round object.   
This was worth protecting. It _had_ been worth it.

A few exclamations rose up from within Haven. Cullen assumed this meant the ‘Herald’ was awake and had decided to venture out during the day. Actually, he was the only one who knew she had left the cottage at all. Cassandra had convinced Roderick that Herah was still too exhausted to stand trial. The Seeker was clearly hoping to manipulate some sort of Chantry support of the Inquisition before news of the Herald returning to Haven spread to Orlais. Gesturing to Bouchard to keep the recruits busy, Cullen began to walk back into the settlement. He knew the villagers revered her now, but he could never be too safe. When he finally reached the gates, he realised he need not have worried. Many of the villagers had bowed their heads. A few of the younger Chantry sisters were reciting the chant under their breaths. Those in the crowd closest to Herah were reaching out for her, whispering thanks and pleading for intermediation for their prayers to the Maker.

‘What do you think?’ Varric asked. Cullen hadn’t noticed the dwarf approach. 

‘About?’ Cullen asked, his eyes trained on Herah, who was shaking her head in an almost imperceptible apology. She was quite clearly overwhelmed. 

‘Herald or no?’ The crowd parted to give her space to walk, the ebb and swell of awed murmuring following her as she walked.

‘What do _you_ think?’ Cullen didn’t want to commit to an answer just yet. 

‘Smooth, Curly.’ Herah was nearing the Chantry.

‘I will see you later, Varric,’ Cullen replied, making his own way through the crowd. 

Herah turned to face him, alerted by the disturbance as the murmuring in the throng turned to salutes and bows behind her. At first, Cullen was met with the defiant and unsettling stare she seemed to reserve solely for him. Her features slowly softened, though, only to be replaced with an emotion Cullen did not know her well enough to read. ‘Commander Rutherford,’ she said gently instead, bowing her head slightly in greeting. 

‘Herald,’ he replied, copying her gesture. 

He didn’t remember telling her his family name, but Cullen supposed this didn’t really matter. Enough lower-ranked Inquisition members had visited her with food in the last few days. It only made sense that she would have caught up a little.

‘I was hoping I might speak to the Seeker.’

 

***

 

Roderick was sat in the corner of the war room, his face red with anger. Herah noticed that his bushy eyebrows seemed even more scraggly as usual, as if the separate hairs were trying to distance themselves from his impending temper tantrum. The others were ignoring him entirely, though Cassandra seemed to be making a point of standing with her back to him. Leliana had started pacing slowly again, her eyes glued to the war table. Herah could almost see her mind working as she took in the few tokens positioned on the map. Cullen was leaning over it, his fingers splayed across Halamshiral. The incessant scratching of Josephine’s quill was the only sound in the room.

‘I will stay. But I am not joining the Inquisition. Once I seal the Breach, I leave.’

Herah was relieved when Cassandra and the murmured their assent.

She took a deep breath and braced herself. ‘With Anders.’

The atmosphere in the room, which had only unclenched a second ago, became tense once more. Leliana paused, then nodded. Josephine finally stopped taking notes. Cullen glowered at Ferelden, a few of the muscles in his face flexing as he swallowed back the much larger reaction building behind his teeth. The flickering candlelight and jumping shadows were the only thing moving across Cassandra’s face. The only movement in the room was Roderick, who had purpled and stood up, jowls shaking. Without looking at him, Cassandra tossed back an impatient gesture for silence. The man huffed his offence, then stormed from the war room, robes swishing as he went.

‘Off to report us to the Chantry, no doubt.’ Josephine did not seem worried. She exchanged a quick look with Leliana that resulted in smirks for them both. Apparently, this report would never reach Chantry hands.

‘How do we know this isn’t some trick? He wasn’t made Tranquil by Chantry means, so he could still recover-’

Cassandra sighed. ‘Cullen...it is over. He is punished enough. The man is Tranquil, whether by our hand or-’

‘Mine.’ Herah hated the way her voice cracked as she said this.

‘Seeker, you know the devastation he caused. He cannot be allowed to have his freedom.’

‘Is that your personal opinion, Commander?’ Herah asked, drawing herself up to full height and towering over him.

Cullen bristled, and began to rise too, like a giant cat slowly unfurling to meet a rival. Herah’s often used intimidation technique was rendered less effective the more he straightened out. Once he was fully upright, his previously rounded shoulders obstinately square, Herah had to keep herself from snorting in annoyance at her miscalculation. Either she was less perceptive than she realised, or she had never really _looked_ at the man. He was a giant of a human, all height and brawn - clearly the spawn of some giant _little_ Ferelden hayseed, with giant _little_ human siblings and a lineage to _little_ , giant musclebound Avvar hauling druffalo across the mountains on their shoul-

‘Stop it, both of you!’ Josephine tapped Cullen lightly on the arm before breaking into a string of irately muttered Antivan.

Both warriors ignored her, Herah smirking slightly that despite the unforeseen magnitude of his _tiny_ , human proportions, he still had to look up at her to glare into her eyes. 

‘Maybe she should familiarise herself with the atrocities her _friend_ committed, _before_ they started traipsing through the Hinterlands together.’

‘As a _templar_ , maybe -’

‘He isn’t a templar!’ Cassandra interjected, entering the fray at the same time that Cullen snidely pointed out that the Valos-Kas working for templars previously did not make her an expert on templar matters.

This seemed to strike a chord, and Herah gasped and said nothing, leaving behind an outraged silence.

Leliana took this opportunity to jump in. ‘You cannot punish the man twice! This isn’t what Justinia-’

This only prompted everyone to start shouting over one another again. The rising cacophony of noise was put to a sudden halt with a loud, metallic ringing sound. Josephine had grabbed the nearest goblet and banged it hard against the stone walls, causing a few of the jewels to clatter across the floor. 

‘We agree to your terms, He-’

Cullen opened his mouth to object and again Josephine banged the goblet against the wall, drowning out his words entirely.

‘We agree. Now go, all of you!’ Josephine ordered, banging them out of the room to discourage any further argument, before setting the now misshapen goblet onto the war table

‘...not even real gold...’ Herah heard the diplomat mutter behind her as they sidled out of the room.

 

***

 

The mountain air cooled the sweat on Cullen’s upper lip. Herah had thundered ahead of them, shaking with fury.

‘Are you well?’ Cassandra asked directly.

‘The usual,’ Cullen replied, brushing away her concern, his eyes still trained on the angry qunari storming toward her cottage.   
Cullen noted that she schooled her gait once she remembered that she was back under the scrutiny of her admirers. She noded at a few oncoming Chantry sisters, and even waved tentatively at a few of the braver children who called out to her. Once she reached her door, however, she dropped her head and her shoulders started to shake. Cullen caught a glimpse of her tear-streaked face before she hurriedly shut the door. He looked away, his stomach sinking.

‘That was unnecessary.’ Cassandra said lightly, her rebuke stirring up unwanted feelings of shame. So she had seen it too.

‘I know,’ he replied, his voice low. ‘This isn’t what I wanted, you know.’

Cassandra patted him gently on the arm. ‘Tavern?’ she offered. ‘It has been a long day. And I would like to sit through Varric’s recriminations before the sun sets.’

Cullen chuckled softly in response. He was sure Varric’s list of grievances where the both of them were concerned could stretch far beyond nightfall.

Save for a few merchants and traders striking business deals, the tavern was entirely empty. Cullen preferred it this way. The wooden chair he plopped himself heavily onto creaked in protest. Cassandra’s did the same, albeit less insistently. Huffing angrily, Flissa placed their usual orders on the table before hurrying away to deal with the merchants noisily requesting her services. Cullen took a sip of the cold ale, savouring the taste, avoiding Cassandra’s eyes. They sat there in silence for what felt like an eternity, Cullen lifting his flagon to his lips to alleviate the tension as Cassandra simply played with hers.

‘He reminds me of Kirkwall,’ Cullen blurted out abruptly. 

Satisfied, Cassandra finally took a sip of her own drink, licking the foam from her lips as she set it back down.

‘And now, I can’t even give him the punishment he deserves. The old me would have thought Tranquility a fitting solution, but...it feels empty. This, this is senseless. It has no meaning. He can’t understand or care anymore, and...’ Cullen trailed off, his fingers skipping over all the ridges of his flagon.

‘What happened in Kirkwall wasn’t you fault, Cullen.’

Ah, but it was. His own blindness and his own prejudices had kept him from protecting the vulnerable people under his care. He had helped drive them to the edge of a platform overlooking darkness and expected them not to jump. And even then, they hadn’t. Anders had sent them all hurtling over the line.  
No.  
Meredith. Meredith. Which brought it back to Cullen, who had allowed things to get so far out of the realm of convention, that Anders had…

‘We lit the fire. _I_ lit the fire. And Anders...tr-’ Cullen struggled a bit, then continued, ‘Anders being like...this...now - it reminds me of everything I did wrong. It has robbed all his victims of justice.’

Cassandra sighed. ‘According to Varric’s...tales...it could all have ended the same anyway. The man was an abomination. Who knows what his motivations were?’

‘We can still find out. There is a cure.’ 

His words hung thickly in the air for a few seconds before Cullen shook his head and took two substantial sips of ale and set his mug down hard. ‘The recruits are coming along nicely,’ he said, a cheerful twinkle in his eyes.

Cassandra narrowed her eyes at him, then rapped the table with her knuckles as if signalling the end of the previous conversation. ‘No,’ she said, her grin spread wide. ‘They aren’t.’

 

***

 

She _should_ have told him.

He would have left her.

He would have lived.

The weight of all her unfulfilled duties nudged her gently back into the outstretched tendrils of slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Cullen, the things you say. (Also, poor Herah.)
> 
> My upstairs neighbour (is that a thing that makes sense in English?) was playing really melodramatic, over the top, sink to your knees in the rain as you weep for the futility of life -type violin music as I was writing Herah's last bit. It may have influenced the outcome slightly.


	11. Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra is bad with children, nobles are the bane of Cullen's existence. Bull does Bull things and Herah and Cullen get drunk. Almost fluff happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Womp. I am back. I have been having a lot of problems with my mental health that have affected my ability and motivation to write. I'm super proud of myself for getting this chapter out, and I hope things keep going this way. I am sure there are loads of mistakes in there - it has been a while since I've written this much in English.
> 
> A few vaguely NSFW lines.

_‘You’re back.’_

_‘D-did you bring me here?’_

_‘Does it matter?’  
_

 

***

Cullen took a weary breath. He had spent most of the day on his feet, moving from place to place and avoiding Josephine. A noble from… _somewhere_ was touring Haven, and she had insisted on orchestrating ‘accidental’ meet-ups all day. She was charming enough, he supposed, but the customary face kisses every time they saw each other (Josephine was pulling his leg, surely) were both grating and embarrassing. The sun was sneaking its way back under the horizon, and the tell-tale clash of wood on wood from outside the compound clubbed weakly through the otherwise silent air. Herah was absent, as usual. He had last seen her a few days ago, when Solas had somehow convinced her to eat with the rest of them. She had played with her food as if in a stupor, smiling only when approached by one of her many admirers and ignoring anyone else who tried to engage her. When she finally left, she had looking positively haunted - leaving Solas to admit that perhaps dragging her into the open so soon after Anders’ arrival had been a gross lack in judgement. Cullen sighed, trying to quash the frustration simmering at the pit of his belly. Nothing was moving forward - Josephine’s dealings with the Chantry were going nowhere, and the Herald of Andraste was...could people _break_? 

At least the soldiers were making some headway. Cullen swept his eye over them all as Bouchard put them through their paces. Cassandra had given up on her training for the day and was stalking towards him, her gait slightly stuff and her face red with exertion. Krem was not far behind her, his shoulders slouched and his boots dragging through the snow. Bull smirked in his direction, clearly pleased with his performance. The qunari slapped the Tevinter heavily on the shoulder, caused the young man to stagger clumsily into the Seeker. Cullen chose to ignore their good natured bickering as they made their way into the compound for a wash and some food.

He had spent the last few days mulling over the argument in the Chantry. Avoiding Herah had been easy enough so far. Josephine, ever the diplomat, had chosen to simply pretend it hadn’t happened. Leliana, as usual, was unreadable. Cullen had chosen to shelve away his warring emotions regarding the content of the argument, but he could not ignore the disquiet simmering away just beneath the surface of his mind. The Inquisition, as it stood, felt like an organisation constantly on the verge of crumbling from within. Neither of them had managed to agree to much of anything lately, the internal discord paralysing any headway the Inquisition should have been making. They had finally agreed to follow Mother Giselle’s advice to have the Herald make for Val Royeaux and petition the Chantry for support. In the interest of progress, Cullen had chosen to bite back his objections. Still, there was no denying that this would be a -

‘Commander?’

Cullen started. The Iron Bull was incredibly quiet for someone of his size. ‘Any news?’

‘Val Royeaux, appeal directly,’ Cullen replied sullenly, his eyes trained on the soldiers as their exercises wound down.

Bull huffed. ‘So we’re definitely sending Herah?’ he asked tentatively, tension written all over his face.

Cullen could offer nothing more than a terse nod.

‘Sounds dangerous.’

Cullen nodded again.

Bull crossed his arms. ‘Yeah…she’s not exactly a diplomat.’

‘Seeker Cassandra will travel with her. Her words may carry some influence.’

‘Thank fuck. For a second there, I thought we were going to be sending a volatile warrior into Orlais to negotiate important shit for us,’ Bull said pointedly.

Cullen allowed himself a smile, then turned toward the gates. Harritt had already dimmed the forge, and was in the process of packing up all his gear. 

‘She’s not ready,’ Bull stated.

‘She is the Herald.’

 

‘A qunari Herald. The Chantry is going to love her.’

Cullen said nothing, making his way to the Tavern instead. 

‘She’s...’ Iron Bull paused, rummaging around in his mind for an appropriate word.

‘I know,’ Cullen said absent mindedly, recalling the shambling qunari. 

‘At least the food’s good...’ Bull grumbled as he lifted the latch on the Tavern door.

 

***

 

‘Was it scary?’ the little voice to her left quavered.

Varric had gone suspiciously silent. The storyteller had already been in the Tavern when Herah arrived. He had invited her to sit at his table, beside Krem, but Herah had declined. She had hoped to sit and eat alone - it was for this reason she had come to the Tavern rather than the communal eating area that had been set up near the Chantry. A tug on her arm drew her attention back to the group of children at her table.

‘A little. But I knew the Maker was with me,’ Herah lied, keeping her voice light. She had never been good with children, and she had assumed that walking into the Tavern meant she would encounter no more of them. Instead, she was surrounded by three wide-eyed children who could not be any older than eight years of age. The youngest, a bright young boy of about five, was proving to be the most inquisitive.

‘Where there demons?’ he asked, her little eyebrows furrowed curiously. His friends drew closer, their eyes glittering. 

‘Um...’ Herah wasn’t really too sure which answer would be appropriate for a child so young. Fortunately, the Tavern door swung open heavily, drawing away the attention of the little ones. Herah followed their gaze, huffing a breath of relief that quickly stuck in her throat. _Fuck_. Iron Bull ducked through the door, his huge presence making everyone else seem tiny. Bull nodded curtly in her direction as Cullen stepped in after him, turning around to shut the heavy wooden door behind him. Before Herah could respond, Bull was already jovially waving for a flagon and making his way toward Varric’s table. Herah sighed imperceptibly. Despite having professed his approval at her tenacity, Bull tended to avoid her entirely - not that she couldn’t feel his eyes surveying her warily at odd intervals. The qunari she had been a few months ago would have welcomed his presence here. Of course, she hadn’t fallen out of the fade or gained the mark back then - both of which seemed to have earned her Bull’s distrust. Cullen turned to face one of the Tavern helpers, his friendly greeting cutting through Herah’s ruminations. The young woman blushed furiously, the tips of her pointed ears bearing the brunt of the colouring. Varric said something smug, catching the Commander’s attention. When Cullen whirled around, his hand at the nape of his neck, Herah quickly refocused her attention on the children. If she was heavily pre-occupied, they wouldn’t be forced to interact for propriety’s sake.

‘How come,’ a red haired girl challenged, little fingers framing her freckled face, ‘if you fell out of the hole in the sky, you didn’t get smushed?’

‘That’s because I didn’t fall out of that one. I fell out of a smaller one, much nearer to the ground.’

The girl looked disappointed. _Sorry kid._

She recovered quickly, though. ‘Can I see the Mark on your hand?’

Herah’s skin prickled. She could practically feel the table beside the door staring at her. She pushed down the anger simmering in her belly. She wasn’t going to spew flame at the child. She hadn’t used to mark and it hadn’t acted up since interrupting the Breach.

‘I’m resting it. Maybe another time?’ _Top notch excuse, that one._

The redhead surveyed her dubiously, but was stopped from pursuing her train of thought by the shy boy across the table. His front teeth were still growing out and judging my his unsure silence, he had been teased about it.

‘Did you really see Andraste?’ he mumbled. All three children leaned in eagerly. Herah was impressed with the adult patrons of the Tavern who had managed to refrain from following suit.

‘Well,’ she began faux-thoughtfully, ‘I saw a really bright light, reaching out to me.’

The children’s exclamations were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Herah looked up, surprised. Cassandra stood before the table, her hands wandering from her hips before falling to her sides and then finally crossing before her chest. Her back was very stiff and a slight frown was toying at her brows. 

Cassandra took a deep breath. ‘Good evening, youngsters! It is dark outside! Surely you are to go home! Tut-tut!’ Her delivery was as robotic and stinted as the hand movements that went along with it.

Herah’s mouth fell open and Varric’s belly laugh reverberated through the room. Cassandra pursed her lips, her cheeks colouring only slightly. She was saved from the cacophony of complaints thrown her way by the children by Flissa, who was finally bringing Herah’s stew from the kitchen. 

Once she had placed the steaming bowl on the table, she threw the two warriors a conspiratorial wink and bustled the children away with promises of sweet treats before bed. When they were gone, Cassandra finally relaxed and eased her way into the seat opposite Herah, where she proceeded to throw the highly amused Varric the dirtiest look she could muster.

‘You know, they can sense fear.’

‘What? Er, yes. Children are terrifying. I prefer dragons,’ the Seeker chuckled, leading Herah to laugh along with her.

Once their mirth had died down, Herah played with her spoon, waiting on Cassandra to explain why she had approached her.

‘Ahem. Josephine managed to arrange safe passage for you to Val Royeaux. We will be leaving in a few days.’

Herah nodded, then lifted her spoon to the stew to hurry to conversation along. ‘Anything I need to know?’ 

‘Leliana and Giselle and brief you tomorrow. Good night, Herald.’ Cassandra nodded once, then stood and left the Tavern.

Herah ate slowly, her mind racing. Things were finally moving forward.

 

***

 

There are some moments that the phrase ‘Maker’s Breath’ simply just don’t cover. This was one of them.

Cullen immediately recognised the man as one of his more successful recruits. His pale hands were tied behind his back, the rope pulled tightly enough to redden the skin there. The thick, powerful fingers entangled in his auburn hair forced him to tilt his head back. The man’s swollen lips were half open in an enthusiastic moan of ecstasy. And he was jerking up and down on the colossus that was Iron Bull. It took a few more moments for Cullen to finally register that the whimpers of pain he had followed into this room were whimpers of another sort entirely.

With a jolt, Cullen reached for the doorknob in a panic and shut the door as silently as he could manage. Sweat prickled at his hairline as he stared wide-eyed at the wooden door before his face. The Chantry was usually empty at this hour, and Cullen had planned to take advantage of this and seek solitude within its warm confines. He did not know when, or _how_ Bull had managed to slip out of the Tavern and into one of the side-rooms in order to…

Another hearty groan escaped thickly from the confines of the room before him. 

There was no way he was going to recite the Chant like this.

Cullen started violently when he became aware of the heavy footfalls rushing in his direction.  
‘I swear, I’m not-’ he began as he turned around.

‘Is everything ok?’ Herah asked, stepping forward.

‘No! I mean yes - it’s, ah-’

Another moan.

‘Is someone hurt?’ Herah asked loudly, ignoring Cullen’s attempts to shush her with gestures.

‘It’s, um -’

The Iron Bull had chosen a particularly inopportune moment to showcase his proficiency as a lover. Cullen was sure that the passionate cry that rang out from behind the door and the grunt that accompanied it could not possibly be mistaken for -

‘Someone’s hurt!’ Herah said, pushing her way past him. Cullen hastily grabbed her arm and pulled her back, earning himself a bewildered glare. 

‘It’s… _Maker’s breath_...Bull is in there with someone. Doing the...making...sex. It’s sex. They’re having sex. Sex.’ Cullen fumbled, allowing the final, exasperated words to tumble freely out of this mouth.

Understanding - in the form of a rich purple blush - dawned on Herah’s face as more sounds emanated from the door. Cullen let go of her arm, and she allowed it to flop awkwardly to her side. Both of them turned wordlessly on their heel, walking brusquely toward the heavy main door.

‘I can’t,’ Herah said, stopping abruptly. 

Cullen frowned quizzically. He couldn’t imagine what could possibly be worse than staying in the Chantry at that precise moment in time.

‘People, questions, accusations,’ Herah listed as if he were exceptionally simple.

Of course. Word of what she had said to the children would have spread by now.

Before Cullen could speak, he heard his name and title waft in from outside the Chantry. Josephine’s voice. The voice she used to speak to nobles. Cullen froze.

‘I can’t either.’

Herah cocked an eyebrow, her eyes narrowed.

‘Josephine, nobles, traditional face kisses,’ Cullen listed awkwardly.

Herah looked even more confused. 

Iron Bull’s voice informed them of something so vulgar that Cullen could feel his ears heat up. Herah purpled once more, her breath obviously skipping in her lungs.

‘War Room?’ Cullen suggested awkwardly, leading the way there. It was the furthest room with the thickest door, after all. Once they neared, he gestured quickly for Herah to wait before ducking into Josephine’s office for a few moments, re-emerging with a bottle of amber liquid.

Cullen passed the bottom to Herah, who struggled with the stopper for a few moments before it came loose with a pop. She lifted the glass bottle to her lips and took a deep swig, scrunching up her eyes at the burn as she swallowed the liquor.

‘What is it?’ she asked, coughing as she handed it back.

Cullen inspected the label. ‘Some honey thing,’ he concluded, before taking a few sips himself.

While they could no longer hear the two lovers, things were still painfully awkward. So they drank to fill the silence. Once they finished the bottle, and Cullen ducked out for yet another one, they then drank some more simply to have something to do with themselves. 

‘Er,’ Herah began. Cullen’s head snapped up, grateful for the break in the silence. She was stood over the War Table, fingertips grazing the Free Marches. ‘Your projection is all wrong.’

Maker’s Breath. ‘Sebastian Vael certainly seems to be following through on his threat to attack Kirkwall, thanks to...Hawke.’ he said, changing tack. They were already on the verge of an argument. No need to bring up Anders. ‘There is an army amassing here, and then they’ll-’

‘Run into hordes of mages.’ Herah took a nonchalant swig, eyes trained on the map.

‘What do you mean?’ Cullen said, walking over to her side of the table.

‘We hunted mages. Steered clear of this area, though. It’s where all the mage settlements sprang up, after the uprising. They’re jittery, and jittery is dangerous. Prince Vael would know that,’ Herah concluded, her Starkhaven brogue particularly strong. Cullen suspected she was doing it to make a point.

‘So he’d have to-’ he began, leaning forward and rearranging the pieces on the map.

‘Yeah,’ she nodded, her arm rubbing up against his as she bent down and adjusted a few of the pieces herself.

They both straightened up to admire their handiwork. Herah nudged Cullen then passed him the bottle. He gulped down a conservative mouthful, and tried in vain to think of something to say to keep the crushing quiet from settling back in. It was Herah who broke the silence once more.

‘Cullen?’

‘Mm?’

‘You don’t still think we...I caused the Breach, do you?’ Herah asked, her voice small.

‘No. Nobody still believes that.’

‘Roderick does.’

‘Roderick is a dick,’ Cullen heard himself reply. Maker, he must be drunk.

Herah huffed out a laugh. ‘Such vulgar language from a Chantry boy.’

Cullen rolled his eyes. ‘Just because I prefer to...are you alright?’

Herah was sinking to the ground, her knees buckling awkwardly beneath her. Cullen reached out and took the bottle from her hands. ‘I’m fine, I’m - tired,’ she huffed, struggling her way down until she was finally sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor. She reached back up to reclaim the bottle.

‘So how do you end up becoming a...’ Herah gestured for him to continue as she sipped.

‘Templar?’ he said, accepting the bottle and sliding down to sit beside her on the carpet. ‘Maker. Why didn’t you tell me it was this uncomfortable?’

‘Wait.’ Herah moved the bottle out of the way and then gestured for him to face away from her. He could hear rustling behind him, and the haphazard drag of glass across carpet. His back stiffened when he felt her lean against him with her own back. Cullen suddenly felt engulfed by her. She was taller, and her shoulders were almost as wide as his. Her braids were soft against his neck and smelled faintly herbal. When she re-adjusted herself to rest against him more comfortably, a few of them fell down his shoulders, contrasting white-hot with the leather coat he had thrown on earlier. He noted that the long white tendrils of hair ended in perfectly formed spirals. He felt a little dizzy.

Cullen closed his eyes for a few seconds, then reached back unseeingly. Herah passed the liquor on, then proceeded to ask him all manner of questions regarding Templars. Cullen found out she had been Andrastian all her life, but had never had to deal with the templar order - nobody in her family had been a mage. He told Herah about his sister. She told him about Shokrakar. They both avoided Anders. He talked passionately about why he accepted Cassandra’s request to join the inquisition. She changed the subject. She asked about the Blight. He thought of Kinloch, and of _her_ and of his nightmares. He changed the subject. He asked about Starkhaven. She changed the subject. Somewhere along the way, due to either the alcohol or the conversation, they had eased comfortably into each other, stiff muscles and bones no longer poking one another in the back. Herah asked about Jim. They both laughed. They groused about Seggrit. They discussed the discord between the mages and templars. They spoke politics. He mentioned he had met the King of Ferelden, once. She told him she had heard that King Alistair was rather attractive.

‘I suppose,’ he said neutrally, taking a small half sip and leaving the remaining sip for her. She waved her hand and declined it. He shrugged and threw it down, before not quite gently setting the bottle down. ‘That was about ten years ago. He was a templar-in-training, before he became a Warden,’ Cullen continued conversationally.

‘Templar? Well, he _definitely_ broke his vows, then,’ Herah said with a snicker that ended in a snort.

‘Vows?’ Cullen asked, shaking with silent laughter at the snort.

‘You know. Those chastity vow-things you all take.’

Maker’s Breath. ‘You think we all take _chastity vow-things_?!’ Cullen exclaimed, incredulous.

‘You don’t?! Wait - so what do people play naughty templar for if it’s allowed all along?! Wait - so you've...?’ she ventured, twisting around and resting her weight on her arm. Cullen had to do the same in order to see the teasing laugh playing around on her face. She used her free hand to pull some of her braids out of her face. She had a few freckles along her temple, and her eyes shimmered like red wine in this light.

‘Is the Herald of Andraste asking me if I’m a virgin???’ Cullen asked, his words jumping around as he began to chuckle and shake his head in mock admonishment. He paused. ‘Actually - should the Herald of Andraste know about things like _naughty templar_ in the first place?!’ he half shouted before breaking into peals of laughter along with her, both their shoulders heaving.

The door to the War Room slammed open. Herah and Cullen flew apart clumsily, still giggling. Cullen peered over across the room to see Bull hunched in the doorway. He took in the two dishevelled drunks on the floor, surrounded by empty bottles of something that must have been rather expensive.

‘Pretty sure I walked in on something. I’ll just...’ he deadpanned, turning around and shutting the door behind him.

It was Herah who broke the silence for a final time. ‘He knows.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to centre the whole chapter around something a little silly so I could write at all.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herah makes a discovery about the mark, to mixed reactions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sending you all warm thoughts, if wanted.

_No no no no no no no no no no no no no no noooooooo no no_

In the clear light of morning, Herah knew she had made an utter fool out of herself. She had drunk more than she should have. She had told Cullen much more than she should have. She had said some nonsense about naughty templars. She had called him Chantry boy. Her stomach lurched at the thought.

_No no no no noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

None of that compared, however, to how she had unravelled after Bull had checked in on them. Herah untwisted her slightly damp hair from the sheet of cloth she had wrapped around it. She shut her eyes, ignoring the insistent ache behind her skull and began to twist her curls into a bun. 

_Maker, why?_

Herah sat and stared at the wooden panels of the cabin for what felt like an eternity, admonishing herself heavily. A muffled conversation from next door stirred her, and she quickly stood up, dragging her boots slightly as she slipped her arms through the leather waistcoat Harrit had crafted for her. She had no desire whatsoever to run into Cullen this soon after everything. She almost preferred the state of hostility that had reigned between them before they had inadvertently been trapped in the Chantry. 

Herah sighed deeply and squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could will time to reverse itself so she could simply stand up and leave once the Ben Hassrath interrupted them. Herah wanted to grit her teeth, but her earlier attempt at doing this had sent lightning bolts of pain through her nerves. Another wave of shame washed over her as she recalled her actions. In the grand - and oft practised - tradition of many a drunk before her, Herah had broken into a rather emotional soliloquy, devolved into a staggering, slurring mess and demanded more alcohol...which had culminated in her regurgitating last nights’ meal into the bushes beside the chantry.

She began to pace. She couldn’t hide in her cabin. She had to prepare for Val Royeaux. This was Cullen’s fault, anyway. He’d probably done it so he could interrogate her about her past. Why else would he have been so friendly after their argument? It certainly hadn’t been her idea to drink. He was obviously descended from a lineage of tiny Avvar Fereldens that made a habit of wielding tiny bottles of darkspawn bile in their tiny hands, flicking their tiny hair every which way and forcing perfectly respectable Andrastian Vashoth to sin. Feeling better, Herah took a deep breath, then threw the front door open. 

_Fuck._

Cullen was stood on the other side, eyes wide with shock. By the looks of things, he had been on his way to the training grounds and had flinched heavily enough to drop the sweetroll he must have been eating into the snow. Of course he would be outside her door as she was leaving. Walking past her door was surely what he did when he wasn’t off in the wilderness, tying druffalo around his waist for modesty and skipping nugs on mountain lakes for sport.

‘Herah-ld,’ the Commander said stiffly, the amendment flowing almost smoothly off his tongue.

‘Commander,’ Herah replied, giving him a polite nod of the head in acknowledgement.

‘I trust you feel better today?’ Cullen asked courteously, gesturing for her to walk beside him.

Herah pushed the door shut and began to match his pace. ‘I feel much better, thank you.’ She hated this. The qunari wasn’t sure whether to apologise or simply follow his lead and pretend she could not remember the finer details of last night. Which, in all likelihood, would not take too much pretending on her part.

‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ Cullen answered. His business-like tone softened before he continued. ‘I should not have...procured...the alcohol in the first place. I apologise - it was...inappropriate. And my consequent behaviour was...’

Herah decided to cut him off. If she didn’t manage to roll this apology off her tongue, she would never be able to revisit it later. ‘I am so, so, sorry you had to see that.’

Cullen’s lopsided smile, while unexpected, gave his face a rakish quality that had Herah reflecting on the reaction of the serving-girl at the Tavern the night before. ‘No it’s - I’m used to it,’ he replied, his accompanying chuckle slightly tart. 

Herah didn’t know how to respond to that, and she heard enough of the self deprecation in his voice to know not to ask what he meant.

Cullen cleared his throat and turned to look at her, his earnesty undermined by the tinge of red creeping up his face. ‘I especially wanted to apologise for the, ah… _indelicate_...nature...of some of my comments.’’

With that, a memory collided with Herah’s mind like a sledgehammer. She couldn’t help it. Both her hands flew to her face and she hid behind them. _Youaskedthistotalstrangerquestionsabouthisexperienceinthesack._

‘Maker, can we just...forget it ever happened?’ Cullen offered, his voice wavering.

Herah’s eyes were screwed shut hard enough to send colourful explosions soaring behind her eyelids.

‘You were right,’ came a voice from behind them. 

Herah’s hands flew from her face and she turned around so quickly she almost bumped into Cullen (why was he taking up so much space instead of engaging in the business of being tiny?!), who had to flinch away from her a second time. It was Varric who had spoken. Krem and Bull were walking beside him. The dwarf looked particularly smug.

‘About what?’ Bull asked, his lips curling slightly.

‘They couldn’t possibly have been flirting. Cullen’s still terrible at it. I’d kind of hoped-’

‘-that you had outgrown your fascination with tormenting me?’ Cullen finished, his arms crossed and his brows furrowed in frustration.

Varric simply laughed, ushering them all out of the compound toward the other fighters. ‘You know me better than that, Curly.’

Herah did not like this line of speculation, even if it was mainly at Cullen’s expense. 

 

***

Cullen couldn’t pinpoint exactly how things had come to this, but Herah and Bull were squaring off in the snow a few metres away from the recruits. Flecks of mud and snow were flying about all round the warring qunari and the sounds of their wooden practise beams splintering on impact cracked through the air. Solas, who had joined them sometime after the scrabble began was leaning on his staff a little, his eyes narrowed in an emotion that Cullen could only decipher as being somewhere between curiosity and disapproval.

Further down, Cassandra had given up on her own vigorous training, and was making her way over toward them, steering clear of the scrimmage. Varric sighed.

‘What did he do?’ Cassandra asked Cullen and Solas, gesturing at the ruddy dwarf.

‘When you assume, it makes an ass out of ‘u’ and me, Seeker.’

Cullen narrowed his eyes at Varric’s response. ‘He asked who would win in a fight between them,’ the Commander offered.

Varric threw him a withering look that quickly dissipated. ‘You’d think that after the Arishok and everything, I’d learn to keep my big mouth shut.’

A big crack rang through the air. Bull had deflected an incoming blow with his arm, and was fighting on as if nothing had happened, and Herah was on the back foot - again. 

Cullen looked to the Seeker. The frown on her face reflected what he had been thinking throughout the bout.

It was becoming increasingly clear that she had various technical issues to improve on if she was to stand up to a skilled opponent in an evenly weighted fight. Enthusiasm and improvisation alone would not be enough against an adversary who planned to kill her, rather than simply capture her, or play-fight.

Apparently Solas had sensed the same thing. ‘He is going to tear her apart, if they are not careful.’

 

Cassandra grunted in resignation and picked up a practise shield - just in case - before making her way to the whirl of mud, snow and limbs a few metres away. Both qunari had managed to disarm each other - a move which worked strongly in Bull’s favour. He grabbed Herah by one of her horns. Cullen smirked. It was this hubris that had allowed her to escape the first time, at Winterwatch. Cullen knew what came next. Predictably, Herah flung her hand out, and - 

Nothing. 

The mark shimmered benignly, bathing one side of Bulls face in an eerie green glow. A shocked look ran across Herah’s face. The small triumphant smile tugging at Bull’s lips was quickly chased away when Cassandra started shouting at them. Soon, both of the fighters were traipsing back with Cassandra, a sheepish look on their faces. The Seeker threw the unused shield back onto the ground and crossed her arms, surveying the small group with a look of concern on her face. Herah was breathing heavily, her cheeks puffing up with every exhale. 

‘Got that out of your system, Tiny?’

‘Eh,’ Bull began dismissively, ‘barely a warm-up. Krem! Get the Chargers together, time to work on that shielding!’ He threw a quick look at Herah’s hand before walking away.

‘So, your hand broken?’ Varric asked. 

Cullen reminded himself to stop underestimating Varric’s powers of perception.

‘That’s never happened before...’ Herah said breathily, her voice trailing.

Solas walk toward her, arm outstretched. He threw Herah a questioning look and she nodded in reply, allowing him to hold her hand to examine the mark. ‘It is possible that what you did that the Temple halted its function as a conduit between yourself and the Fade.’ 

‘I’m...glad,’ Herah said. Cullen surveyed her face. She didn’t seem glad. She seemed afraid. ‘Maybe something’s wrong with me?’ she asked, directing her question at Solas.

‘Are you suffering any other ill-effects?’ the mage asked, concerned.

‘Not...no.’ Herah replied, deep in thought. Solas prodded a few more times, before letting go, deep in thought.

Cullen waited a few moments to ensure that their interaction was over before he spoke. ‘Maybe it’s better this way. You are not a mage. You have had no training in how to wield such a force, much less protect yourself against the danger that such a direct line to the Fade poses.’

Herah ignored him, and Cassandra turned to face her. Herah had taken to staring at her hand with a vacant expression on her face. ‘You didn’t notice? When was the last time you used your...powers?’

Her face snapped up, her red eyes inexpressive. ‘Witchwood. When I...’ she trailed off, averting everyone’s gaze. 

‘You should...visit him. In the Chantry. I can relate to...needing closure.’ Solas attempt at sympathy was awkward to listen to. 

Cullen could not help but feel like an intruder. He was an intruder. 

‘I can’t,’ Herah replied finally. ‘I made him a promise. If I see him without fulfilling it, I will...I can’t. I have not seen him this far and...I won’t see him until the day we both leave.’

Solas merely nodded. Cullen felt something in his chest tighten. Old, overheard conversations stirred in his memory, and a familiar longing stirred in the nebulous black hole behind his ribs. He wanted to cast his eyes at the horizon, but caught Varric watching him closely. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The yearning in his chest morphed into a bittersweet pining, a mourning.  
A tugging.  
A pulling.  
A dra _gggggggggg_ ing.  
Still aware of Varric’s gaze, Cullen pulled his shaking fingers into a tight fist and reminded himself that there was no fucking lyrium here. 

 

And that it wouldn’t take the memories away.

And that it wouldn’t bring absolution.

And also that he did not want to take lyrium in the first place.

 

***

 

_‘We are so close!’_

_‘I know, but-’_

_‘HOW DARE YOU.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is a litterbug who left his sweetroll on the ground. Though I suppose he was swept up in a bunch of other things immediately after dropping it. Still though. *Continues to berate character for something they made character do because they didn't want to add a line about picking up said sweetroll and scurrying off to find an appropriate place to deposit it*
> 
> Also, sweetroll, ha.


End file.
